


i'd still choose you

by sapphictomaz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Quests, Strangers to Lovers, Temporary Character Death, also its gay, look its a slowburn adventure quest fic where lots of people go soul searching, not a lot but including that tag for a general tw, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21047054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphictomaz/pseuds/sapphictomaz
Summary: A very mortal Bellamy embarks on a quest to save his best friend. Along the way, he meets several mages and magical creatures beyond anything he's ever known, and one stone-faced god with too much history and too many secrets. This is that story.Or, a Greek Mythology au.





	1. the dianthus bloom

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from "poison & wine" by the civil wars. that song sets the general mood for this entire work as well.
> 
> link to my murphamy playlist that i listened to while making this if you like, to set the mood even further --> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3h69EmvBlnqPX3vtriWJbr?si=RiD5DbyvSBiWyLPCEvoaGg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the dianthus often bloom in the darkest of hours.

When a bog engulfs his foot for the third time that hour, Bellamy stops to wonder if all of this is worth it.

Quickly, he tries to wrestle his foot out of the swampy trap. He manages to lift it out halfway before the bog retaliates, its grip holding tight on the cloth of his boot. Grimacing, Bellamy plants his other foot firmly on the grassy bank and _yanks_, sprawling forwards at the sudden loss of pressure on his right foot. He catches himself, barely, his hands digging into the wet grass, his face inches from crashing into the ground.

As he looks back, he sees his boot slip under the surface, the bog returning to its previous state of tranquility, a final affirmation of its victory.

Bellamy wonders what unearthly being possessed his sister when she decided to make her home out here.

Still, the trees are getting exceedingly thicker, so he knows he’s getting close. The grass rakes against his now-bare foot, but he stands with as much confidence as he can muster and continues on his trek. His sole knife doesn’t do a lot of damage against the tree branches and bushes in his way, but it helps somewhat. After a minute or so, he forgets about his foot, the adrenaline from reaching the final stages of his journey taking over.

Finally, just as an ache was starting to set in his bones, Bellamy turns a corner and is greeted by a wide, open clearing. Flowers of every colour under the sun fill the field, but a clear pathway winds its way to the center of the clearing, in which a small wooden cabin stands tall. A small, yet oddly angelic, cat with wide green eyes perched high on a windowsill at the side of the cabin hisses upon Bellamy’s approach, but otherwise the air is silent.

“Hey, there,” Bellamy says softly as the cat jumps off the windowsill and begins slowly approaching him. It’s quite small – nothing more than a housecat – but oddly, he feels threatened by its methodical, purposeful approach. An aura of authority washes over him the closer the creature gets. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s sheathing his knife and backing away from the approaching cat.

Something’s not quite right now, he’s realizing, but the effects of whatever’s going on are now too strong to resist. Inwardly, panic grows as he registers himself taking another step back. Now that the initial confusion and haze have cleared, Bellamy knows he’s moving against his own will – there’s nothing threatening about the housecat, yet when he forces himself to look at it, he feels his free will crumble.

Bellamy’s not a mage. He knows enough about magic to recognize he’s under the control of an enchantment, but he doesn’t even know where to begin to stop it.

The disconnect between his mind and body grows, but he holds onto enough awareness to know he’s stepping back off the path, into the center of a row of red and white flowers. The cat stays steady on the path, stopping its approach to stare at him. Later, Bellamy will swear that he can see the cat smirking.

He’s got other problems, now. Vines from the flowers reach out, twisting themselves around his ankles. He screams at himself to _move_, to do anything, but the more he struggles the more cloudy his mind becomes. The vines sink their thorns into his skin and _pull_. Stubbornly, he doesn’t stop fighting, but it takes only seconds before he loses all control over himself and his limbs hang heavy, growing slack at his sides. It doesn’t hurt, though, and instead a blissful ignorance coats his thoughts. He forgets the vines are there at all, and allow them to grow around him, letting them do as they wish.

Now that the fight is over, he falls to his knees with an ungraceful _thump_. More vines circle him, latching onto his wrists and sinking their thorny teeth into them. Blood begins to trickle from his wounds, but he can’t find it in himself to care. A creeping numbness shoots up his body, but it feels good, he thinks, to not always be in control. Soon, the blood from his wrists drips onto the mouths of the flowers. Vaguely, Bellamy thinks that the scenery is beautiful.

It’s at this point that the cat turns around and marches right back to its post on the windowsill. Instantly, the first part of the enchantment lifts, and Bellamy _snaps_ back to full awareness. Fear grows in his chest, and now that he has control he struggles and pulls against the vines, but they only grow tighter and dig deeper into his skin. His legs are tied countless times to the ground. He truly cannot move at all.

“Octavia!” he cries, his voice deep and guttural as he fails to hide the panic in it. There are no lights on in the cabin, but he’s running out of options. “Niylah!” he tries, a fair bit more desperately. He’s met with silence.

As if sensing his tactic, vines begin to snake around his chest, forming tight coils that go higher and higher until they’ve encircled his ribcage. They tear at his shirt but this time, don’t break the skin – instead, the vines begin to _squeeze_. “Octavia!” he tries again. It’s to no avail. “Octav-!” The vines suddenly double in strength and tighten, pushing all the air out of his lungs. He coughs painfully and tries to draw in a breath, but the vines don’t budge and he’s unable to.

Blood’s falling a bit more steadily from his numerous wounds. Sensing his weakness, the vines wrap around his shoulders and _pull_ once more. This time, Bellamy goes without struggle, falling onto his back. All he can see above him is the sky, empty of clouds, and the sun, beating down on him, radiating beauty without a care in the world for what’s happening below.

“Octavia,” he whispers, his voice cracking at the end and entirely giving out. As the sound leaves his lips, however small, a singular, thorny vine snakes over his mouth. If he speaks again, he’ll cut his tongue on the thorns. More crawl over his neck, preventing all movement. He thinks that, at this point, it’s overkill.

The corners of Bellamy’s vision grow dim and the darkness creeps inwards. In his last moments, he’s aware of growth happening above him and his own body sinking down into the field. New flowers grow in the spot he’s disturbed, their roots joining in on the mess of grass and vines that now call his body home. He wonders if any part of him will be visible from above. He wonders how many others have met this fate.

Bellamy’s sight cuts out, as do his other senses, and he wonders if this is for the best.

* * *

_His spirit floats downwards, approaching the mouth of the Underworld’s River. Charon stands at the ready with his big, empty boat, hand outstretched, waiting for payment._

_Bellamy knows he was not buried with a coin to give; he knows he was not buried at all._

_Still, he approaches the ferryman and hopes to appeal, because he knows that across that river are his father, his mother, and perhaps most importantly, Clarke. _

_That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it? Getting her back? So what, he decides, if he had to die to do it? It’s definitely the fastest route to his goal._

_“No payment, no ride,” Charon says, keeping his boney hand outstretched expectantly. _

_“Please, I need to-”_

_“No exceptions.”_

_“But my – but Clarke. She’s on the other side.”_

_“And she got there because she had a coin.” He’s glad, at least, that Jaha had the mercy to bury his victims properly. _

_So, it’s his doom to mill about the shore for a hundred years, it seems, but it can’t be too bad. Many others have done it, he’s sure, so he starts walking, since he may as well see all the sights. The river pools at his feet, the lack of any wind or air somewhat tranquil._

“Bellamy.”

_The voice sounds light, soft and warm, but he ignores it, keeping his gaze cast over the river. It’s important to keep his goal in mind. The Underworld must have countless distractions, he’s sure. He starts thinking about the possibility of swimming across when he hears it again._

“Bellamy, turn around.”

_He doesn’t, but he feels something warm behind him, like a fireplace, maybe, but that wouldn’t make any sense – _

“Bellamy, you have to turn around right _now_.”

_His curiosity wins, and he risks a glance backwards. A shimmering, bright orange portal has formed behind him, the silhouette of a woman standing inside. Charon casts an annoyed glance towards it, but he does nothing to make it vanish. _

_Even though the woman’s features aren’t fully defined, she’s not hard for Bellamy to place. “Niylah,” he says, failing to hide his disdain. “Thought you weren’t doing dark magic anymore?”_

_“I don’t. I was going to leave you in the flowerbed, but Octavia insisted. So, let’s go.”_

_“No.” _

_“I – what? I’m about to resurrect you, and you’re saying _no_?”_

_“I need to be here. I need to get her back.”_

_Niylah rolls her eyes, stepping out of the portal but keeping one foot in as a tether. “If you’re set on dying, then at least come back with me so you can get a proper burial, okay?”_

_She extends a hand, beckoning him to follow her. At his right, Charon’s bony appendage is still offered – Bellamy, though, knows he has nothing to give, so he may as well take what’s offered. _

_With one last, long look over his shoulder, Bellamy turns his back to the Underworld and takes Niylah’s hand, following her through the portal._

* * *

_In the dark, he hears her – “Please, someone help me! Help me! Bellamy, please!”_

_Her voice, her cries, they echo all around him, and then – _

He’s forced back into his body with a jagged gasp for air, his senses all returning in one painful moment. Bellamy jolts upright, dirt on his shoulders falling to the floor. Immediately he’s brought to awareness by the ache in his body. There are bandages on his wrists and feet, and loose dirt all over his clothing. It’s a reminder that what happened really did occur.

The walls that surround him are wood, the furniture all polished and elegantly crafted. This alone tells him he’s inside the cabin that he approached earlier. There’s a window to his left, the same one the cat had been perched on, he’s angled facing towards the door. He’s sitting on a couch in the middle of what looks to be a central room, with at least two other rooms towards the back of the cabin. A fireplace is lit across from him, warming the eerie chill that’s set into his bones.

“Octavia?” he calls. His voice feels rough in his throat and comes out sounding hoarse. Bellamy coughs, only once, and tastes dirt on his tongue.

It only takes seconds for the door to fly open. “Bellamy!” Octavia cries, running over to him and pulling him into her embrace. Finally, she lets him go, sitting at the opposite end of the couch and looking him up and down. “You’re really dirty, you know.”

Despite everything, he laughs. On the surface, Octavia looks the same as he remembers – her hair is just as long and dark, though now there are several braids in the midst of the loose strands. Her clothes are simple, save for a tailored leather jacket that hangs over her shoulders. Her hands, he now realizes, are covered in dirt and calluses. “You look happy,” he says, which causes the smile on her face to grow even larger. It’s true – she looks just like how he remembers his sister, but full of so much more life. Her posture, her laugh, the way she absentmindedly plays with her hair – it’s all evidence of a lightness, a kind of jubilation he’d never seen her have before. Even though it hurts to admit, he supposes she must have made the right decision when she ran away.

“It’s really good to see you,” she says, but then her gaze falls, and she doesn’t meet his eyes. “and…I’m sorry. For what happened.”

The joy of seeing his sister for the first time in years had distracted him from the reality of the situation, and his eyes narrow. “It’s not _your_ fault.”

“Bellamy!”

“Well, is it?”

“Actually,” she says, “yeah, it kind of is.”

Bellamy’s eyes glance out the window, where now Niylah has come into view. She’s crouched in the middle of the flowerbed, carefully shifting around dirt. If he watches carefully enough, he can see fresh flowers sprouting up from the ground at impossible speeds. The cat that had somehow terrorized him so easily before was seated next to Niylah, curled up in a ball.

Slowly, yet with elegance Bellamy’s never understood, Niylah affectionally scratches between the cat’s ears, then turns her head and meets his gaze with hers. She winks, then returns to her work. Somehow, it makes him angry.

“I doubt that,” Bellamy says, dryly, “unless you’ve become a mage since I’ve last seen you.”

“No,” Octavia sighs, “but the spell – that was my idea. I asked Niylah to cast something like that, something no one could escape from.”

Bellamy’s eyes widen. Somehow, he feels even colder. “_You_ did? Why would you want something like that?”

“Because, Bell, I was scared of someone coming after me – after _us_. Niylah’s already wanted by a lot of people to get access to her powers. If someone found out who my father was, I’d be caught and dragged back to Arkadia to be put to death. You know that.”

Unfortunately, he did. While they shared a mother, Octavia’s father had been an atrocious man, convicted of one of the longest lists of crimes anyone had ever heard of. Because of that, Octavia had hidden in their home most of her life, and when their mother died, Bellamy had looked after her for years – until Niylah came along, of course, and the week after Octavia was running off into the woods to spend her days with the so-called love of her life.

He sighs, then waits until she has the courage to look him in the eye again before continuing. “I understand,” he says, “and honestly, in your place, I might have done the same. _And_ I didn’t tell you I was coming, so it’s my own fault.”

The relief in Octavia’s face is palpable. “I’m glad you’re alright. When we came back and Niylah sensed the disturbance…you were _dead_, Bell.” Her voice grows soft as the sentence trails off.

“I’m not now, though.”

“If Niylah wasn’t a necromancer, you would be. And it would have been _my_ fault.”

“But I’m not.” He reaches out a hand, and she quickly takes it. “O, listen to me. I’m fine now, and that’s _because_ of you.”

She wipes her eyes, then looks up at him, gaze shining. “You’re still just as selfless as before, huh?”

They’re interrupted by the door opening and Niylah entering, the dark-haired cat following at her side. Niylah gives him a slight nod before pulling a chair over and settling into it. The cat chooses to curl up by the fireplace. Now that he’s closer and can get a better look, Bellamy has to admit the creature is extremely elegant. Its fur is mostly dark, but there are lighter brown and white spots scattered around, and its eyes are a piercing green that, somehow, hold more intelligence than he could ever hope to have.

“That’s Ally,” Octavia says, gesturing to the cat. “She’s Niylah’s, but she’s warming up to me.”

“Don’t worry. She likes you,” Niylah comments. Everything Niylah says comes out as though she is distracted and would rather not have to participate in conversation. Bellamy thinks, though, that this might just be whenever he’s around, and the truth is that she cares very little about him or what he could be here to say.

Bellamy eyes Ally warily. “Does she…I mean, can she…”

“Do magic?” Octavia interrupts, eagerly. “She can do a barrier spell, which is what she used on you. She’s our primary line of defense.”

“Ally was a token of goodwill from my mother,” Niylah elaborates. “I believe she contains the soul of a skilled mage, from eons past, reborn into a new life. Though, that’s merely the story she told me. I don’t know if it’s true.”

From the way Ally smirks up at him, Bellamy’s pretty sure it’s true.

With a long sigh and clenched teeth, Bellamy glances up at Niylah. “Thanks,” he says. It pains him to owe Niylah anything. “For bringing me back.”

Niylah’s gaze is piercing. “I didn’t do it for you,” she says, and yeah, he expected that.

Octavia looks at Niylah with the purest form of love, and keeps her hand in Bellamy’s, squeezing tightly. Bellamy thinks that he’d die a hundred times more if it would guarantee Octavia always felt this way.

“And, actually,” he continues, anxiety rising in his chest, “I did come to see Octavia – but I also came to talk to you.”

One of Niylah’s eyebrows raise, the most indication she’s ever given him that she’s interested. She drags her chair closer, absentmindedly grabbing some loose strands of Octavia’s hair and beginning to braid them. “What can I do for you?”

_This is it. This is why you’ve come._ “I need you to bring someone back,” he says. His throat’s growing tight, and this time it’s not from the dirt.

“Back from the dead?” Octavia asks, her eyes narrowing at him. He doubts she realizes, but she moves backwards, drawing protectively closer to Niylah.

“If you can’t,” he says, “could you summon them? Let me speak to them?”

Niylah purses her lips, braiding faster. “Who is it?”

“Clarke Griffin.”

Octavia inhales sharply at the name. “Oh, Bell…I’m so sorry.”

“Who was she to you?” Niylah asks.

“She’s my – She was going to be my wife.”

Finally, Niylah sighs, letting go of Octavia’s hair. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know her, so I can’t help you.”

It’s exactly what he feared might happen, but he hasn’t come all this way for nothing. “But why not? I have drawings of her. I can describe her. I can – I don’t know, go with you, show you where she is.”

Niylah fixes her piercing gaze on him, face void of any emotion except pity. “Has she crossed the River? Did Charon give her a ride yet?”

“Yes.”

“Then I definitely can’t. I’m sorry, but there’s just no way.”

Bellamy’s hand slips out of Octavia’s grasp and he stands. Octavia lets out a defeated breath, but Niylah stands her ground even though he’s now towering over her. He’s never liked the mage, and now all his feelings of anger rise to the surface. “You’re a _necromancer_!” he cries. “Why won’t you?”

“She’s already crossed over. It’s too late.”

“You _just_ brought me back, so why won’t you do it for her?”

“That was different.”

He growls, low and guttural, fists clenching at his side. Still, Niylah is unfazed. “Switch us, then!” he finally yells. “I don’t care! I’ll die, I’ll stay in the Underworld, so that she can live!”

“Bell, don’t say that,” Octavia says, ever-so quietly. She goes unheard.

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“_Fine_! Then undo what you did! Send me back so I can be with her!”

“_Bellamy_!” Octavia shoots upright. He’s still taller, but she grabs him by the shoulders and shakes once, aggressively. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, grounding them both. “Think about what you’re saying! You don’t want that!”

“Even if you did,” Niylah comments, still seated, “I couldn’t.”

Tears form in the corner of his eyes, which only further ignites the fury in his chest. “So the whole death magic thing only works when it’s convenient for you, then,” he says, quieter now, but harsher.

“Bellamy-”

“You force your way into my life, you _steal_ my sister from me, and now you won’t help me when I travelled all this way and _died_ just to see _you_!”

Octavia steps back as if he’s slapped her, hands dropping from his shoulders down to her sides. Instantly, he feels her absence. “I’m sorry about Clarke,” she says, before abruptly turning around and marching out of the room.

It’s now that Niylah finally stands, still somehow poised and graceful. “You’re welcome to stay the night,” she says.

“Just tell me _why_ you won’t do it.”

She stops to look at him. If he didn’t know her to be emotionless, Bellamy would say there was sympathy in her gaze. “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” she says, and then follows Octavia’s exit, Ally trotting close behind.

Outside, the sun is setting, falling behind the horizon. Inside, Bellamy Blake sinks to his knees and begins to cry.

* * *

Much later, past the time when night overtakes day and the darkness outside is so consuming that Bellamy feels like a shadow himself, he sits in front of the flickering fireplace, knees held against his chest. He hasn’t slept a wink – he hasn’t tried. The ache in his chest is spreading through his whole body and he still doesn’t feel warm.

The thing is, he doesn’t have a back-up plan. When Clarke was taken, it didn’t take him long to decide on a course of action. He knew that he couldn’t survive without her, and he knew she was going to the Underworld, which meant that he had to find a way to get her back. Despite his wariness of Niylah and magic altogether, he knew she possessed necromancy magic and yeah, he didn’t know how it worked, but it was too convenient to ignore.

It was all going to be so _easy_. He’d make the long journey, he’d see his sister, and together they’d convince Niylah to bring Clarke back. He didn’t expect it all to go wrong so quickly.

He’s so distracted he doesn’t notice Octavia enter the room until she sits beside him, so close that their knees brush. “I’m sorry for leaving, before,” she says.

“It’s okay.”

“Bellamy…I really am sorry about Clarke, too.”

He nods, staring intently at the flames in front of them. With no other light in the room, he feels both off-put and at peace. “I’m sorry, too. For what I said to you. I know that Niylah didn’t steal you.”

Octavia’s silent for a moment. “It’s okay. I understand why it could feel that way for you.” She’s matured, Bellamy thinks, considerably over the last couple of years. When she had first run away with Niylah and left him alone, he’d been sure she’d fallen under some spell and went off with her out of lust. Now, though, when he hears her talk about Niylah, and when he sees them together, sees the place and the life that they’ve built – he’s inspired by her growth.

“Clarke was all I had left, O. She got me through the loss of our mother, and she was there for me when you left. I can’t go back without her.”

“What happened to her?”

The flames seem to lose their sense of peace, and instead grow menacing in front of him. The _crackle_ of each and every ember sends shivers down his spine. “She was sent to the Labyrinth,” he says, quietly.

Octavia lets out a long breath. “Nia belongs in the Underworld.”

“Careful,” he says, and it’s meant to be a joke, but his tone falls completely flat. “She hears everything, they say.”

“She doesn’t scare me, not anymore,” she mutters, but then collects herself. “I hadn’t even realized that the draw had happened yet. I’m sorry. That must have been…horrible.”

“It was,” Bellamy says, and once again Clarke’s last pleas for help fill his mind. Every few years, the city of Arkadia was required to send seven men and seven women to Azgeda’s territory, to enter the Labyrinth and be devoured by the Minotaur. It was part of some peace treaty with the tyrant Queen Nia, Azgeda’s ruler, the very Queen who was responsible for both the Labyrinth’s creation and the Minotaur’s existence. When Bellamy was younger, he didn’t understand why Arkadia signed a treaty with Azgeda at all, but upon growing older and seeing the true size and capability of their army, he understood. Azgeda could crush the Arkadia army in seconds, and so, they complied and sent innocent citizens to the Labyrinth. In order to decide who was to be sent, a random draw took place. Everyone’s attendance was required.

They’d been standing in the city square when King Kane had called out _“Clarke Griffin!”_, the very last name to be drawn. She’d struggled and she’d tried to escape, but the guards caught her all too soon and hauled her away to a ship, tying her up with thirteen others. The whole time, she’d screamed Bellamy’s name.

He knows, by now, the Minotaur has killed her. No one who had entered the Labyrinth had ever returned from it. Clarke was special, but no one was _that_ special.

“I’m worried about you, Bell.”

He laughs once, softly. “About me? You don’t have to be. It’s Clarke that we have to help.”

“I know, but – you _died_ today, Bellamy, and you’re just okay with that? It’s not something you just come back from.”

“Doesn’t it have to be?” he asks, finally turning to look at her. In the blanket of darkness, she looks more stoic and grown-up than he’d ever imagined her to be. “I have to be able to handle it if I have any hope of bringing her back. And besides – it doesn’t matter how I feel. All that matters is I get her back.”

Octavia doesn’t respond for a long time, but finally she replies, “No one has ever brought someone back after they’ve crossed the River. What makes you think you can?”

“I have to.”

“And if you can’t?”

“I _have_ to.”

Octavia studies his face, carefully. “Bellamy, you have to promise me that you won’t die for this. Not because of something like this.”

He’d like to be able to do just that, but instead of answering, he watches the fire burn in front of him as the sun begins to rise above the horizon. Still next to him, Octavia sighs, but she doesn’t leave.

He doesn’t even notice the time tick by until it’s the early hours of the morning and Octavia’s asleep beside him, curled around herself and allowing the fire to warm her. It’s here that she looks the most peaceful, and Bellamy decides that he must have done right by her, somehow, if she’s made the choices that brought her to this point.

Niylah comes into the room, then, smiling softly when she sees Octavia. She grabs a blanket off the couch, carefully laying it over her, giving her forehead a soft kiss. Then, she turns her attention to Bellamy, who has not moved since he first sat here, many, many hours ago. “You haven’t slept,” she comments.

“No,” he says. Somehow, the vulnerability and tranquility of the moment hit him all at once, and again he feels tears welling up in his eyes. Still, he manages to meet her gaze, and he’s surprised to see how purely empathetic it is. He feels cold, miserable, and exhausted, but the thoughts and anxiety racing around his mind are too much to slow down, but most of all, he doesn’t want to admit his own weakness in front of Niylah.

Niylah nods in understanding. “I am truly sorry, Bellamy, for what has happened in your life to bring you to this point. One day, you will not feel like this.”

The words are meant to be empathetic, but all they do is sting. It’s all too easy in this moment to blame Niylah as the source of all his problems – after all, if she hadn’t taken Octavia, then he’d have more to live for, Clarke or no.

(He knows he’s being unreasonable, but he doesn’t really care).

“Rest,” she continues. “It will help.”

“Leave me alone.”

She pauses. “I know we aren’t friends, but I cannot leave you like this. Octavia would want–”

“Octavia is _my_ sister,” he says, quietly, cutting her off.

“Yes.”

“_Yes_, and _I_ know what she would or wouldn’t want. Not you.”

“Alright.”

The exhaustion and frustration all collapse in on each other and amount to a ferocious anger that fills his chest. Quickly, he springs to his feet, taking a threatening step towards her. “You don’t _get_ to say what she would or wouldn’t want. You don’t know her.”

Niylah doesn’t move. “Get some sleep, Bellamy. You will feel better in the morning.”

“_Don’t_ tell me what to _do_!”

He doesn’t know where this is leading but he knows he wants to scream, or cry, or break something, but Octavia’s still sleeping next to them and he knows most of all he doesn’t want to disturb her. Niylah, though, offers a soft smile which only enrages him more. “I’m truly sorry,” she says, “I am. But this is for your own good.”

“Wait,” is all he manages to say before Niylah snaps her fingers and everything slows. He tries to take a step forwards, but it’s like there’s a wall around him, closing in from all sides, stopping him from moving at all.

He hopes the betrayal shows in his eyes as he realizes she’s cast a spell on him. Magic is the thing he hates most in the world, and he’s succumbed to it twice in the same day. Maybe, though, it’s his own fault for seeking a _witch_ out in the first place. Maybe –

The exhaustion takes over, then, and he doesn’t have the energy to keep feeling sorry for himself. The fireplace continues to crackle, but the fire in his chest dulls completely. Suddenly, every muscle in his body relaxes at once, and he falls into someone’s steady arms. He hadn’t realized Niylah had moved behind him, but he’s at least the smallest bit grateful that she’s there to catch him and gently lower him to the floor.

A blanket of darkness descends over his vision and he’s mercifully fast asleep.

* * *

When he wakes, it’s slow and comfortable. Daylight streams in through the windows. It must be mid-morning, Bellamy thinks as he sits upright. A blanket he doesn’t remember having falls off his shoulders. He carefully stands, expecting his body to scream in resistance as it usually does, but instead energy strengthens his spirit and he smiles at the pure elation of the feeling.

He hasn’t slept like that since they took Clarke away to die.

He’s folding the blanket back up when Octavia and Niylah come in from outside, Ally close at their heels. “You’re up!” Octavia exclaims, bounding over to him and giving him a quick hug.

Bellamy stiffens upon seeing Niylah, but she doesn’t react to him at all. He could yell at her for using magic on him when he’s made it nothing but clear he detests it – yet, he _did_ really need her help. With the conflict raging still in his mind, he decides to give her nothing but a nod. Niylah returns this, and doesn’t push the issue, for which he’s somewhat grateful for.

Octavia pulls away, then gives him a light slap on the arm. “You’ve got to take care of yourself!” she says. “You slept for over a day.”

His eyes widen in surprise, looking out through the window at the sun, high in the sky. “You mean we talked _yesterday_ morning?”

“Yeah,” Octavia says. “But it’s good that you’re awake now. Niylah had an idea.”

Niylah nods, gesturing to the wooden table at the other end of the room. “Sit,” she says. “Let’s discuss.”

She sits, as well, and he takes a place across from her. Octavia slides into the chair next to Niylah, and though they do their best to hide it, he knows their feet brush underneath the table.

“Firstly,” Niylah says, fixing him with that dry look he knows so well, “I must tell you that I think your quest is foolhardy. No one has ever returned from the Underworld, and no living person who has found their way there has ever returned after crossing the River.”

“I know. But I have to try.”

She’s unfazed, obviously expecting this answer. “I really do apologize that my magic is not strong enough to help you, but even the most powerful necromancers cannot defy Hades. However…there is something that can.”

“Someone more powerful than Hades, the literal god of the Underworld?” Bellamy scoffs. Besides Zeus, leader of the gods, it would be foolish for anyone to claim they held more power.

“Yes,” she says. “You must seek out the Fates.”

A heavy silence descends between them. She’s right, he realizes – the three Fates were, according to the stories, extremely powerful beings who held the universe in their palms. Each of them controlled the births, deaths and final resting places of every soul who had ever walked the Earth. Not even the gods, rulers of the physical domain, held that kind of power or knowledge.

“Okay,” he says, “but the problem with that is no one knows how to find them, let alone where they could be.”

Octavia laces her fingers in Niylah’s hand, squeezing for comfort. “That’s true. No one knows except my mother.”

“Hecate _knows_ the Fates?”

Niylah sighs. “Hecate knows many things, most of which she keeps to herself. But yes – she does know them.”

Her mother was, of course, Hecate – goddess of magic itself. The legends said she was a minor goddess, scorned from the limelight, but Bellamy knew the wrath of magic firsthand. There was absolutely _nothing_ minor about Hecate. Niylah’s powers were inherited, yet she was only a tiny fraction as powerful as her mother. It frightens Bellamy immensely to think about what it would be like to stand in the goddess’ presence.

“Then I’m guessing,” he sighs, “you know where to find your mother.”

“I do,” Niylah says, reaching into her pocket and sliding a thin piece of paper across the table. Bellamy unfolds it carefully, finding an elaborate, detailed map of the area on the other side. The area marked on the map wasn’t too far off – a few day’s worth of travelling, if he got started right away.

“Thank you,” he says, folding the map back up. “This means a lot. Truly.”

“Find Hecate, find the Fates, and plead your case,” Octavia says, sighing. “Bellamy, it’s a lot. Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?”

Bellamy gives her a look that he hopes is somewhat comforting. “No,” he says, “but I have to do this, anyways.”

“I thought you might say that,” Octavia replies. “I guess you’re going to leave right now, too?”

“I am,” he says. He’d love to stay and talk with Octavia for many more days, but the whole cabin radiates magical energy that makes his skin itch. He’s happy she’s found a home, but he can’t stand to be there for any longer.

So he packs, and Octavia shares all the supplies she can give. He takes what Niylah offers wordlessly, still feeling the anger from two nights ago deep within his chest. He doesn’t understand what’s so good about her, and what’s not good enough about him, but he won’t start this up again – not while Octavia’s here.

That’s how he finds himself at the door, with new boots and a new jacket, a fully packed bag on his back, and the map carefully tucked in his front pocket. “Thank you,” Bellamy says to his sister, genuinely. “After, I’ll come back, okay?”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

She leaps forwards and hugs him, burying her face in his chest. He’s quick to hug her back. Niylah stands awkwardly just a little ways off the entire time.

“Okay,” Octavia says when she steps back, quickly wiping her eyes dry. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

He laughs. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“Bellamy,” Niylah says, softly, “can I ask you for a favour?”

He fixes her gaze, feeling his body grow stiff, but he stays neutral for Octavia. “Sure.”

“When you see my mother, could you – could you please make sure my brother is alright?”

Bellamy’s eyes widen in confusion. “You have a brother?”

“Yes,” she says, tightly. “Just. Please, check on him, if you could.”

He figures that it’s easy enough, so he nods. “Sure.”

“Thank you,” she replies, genuinely relaxing in her stance. “Goodbye, Bellamy.”

“Goodbye, Niylah.” Maybe one day they’ll have some kind of better understanding between them, but not today. He squeezes Octavia’s shoulder once, all the words he needs to say to her already said.

With a final smile, he turns around and walks out the door. As he walks down the set path, he looks back once and sees Ally, the cat, staring at him as he departs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot believe this is out in the world. it's like my child. i hope you all love it just as much.
> 
> huge huge thanks to charlie and elle for listening to me talk endlessly about this. i hope you guys know this is all thanks to you.
> 
> talk to me @iexasheart on twitter if you like! :)


	2. the theoi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it is said the the theoi, controllers of all things that be, are not always as wise as they appear to be.

Because he’s Bellamy, and therefore has no good luck, it starts raining after less than an hour. But, perhaps because he’s Bellamy, he’s resourceful and he manages to find a cave to shelter in fairly quickly.

It’s small, but it seems uninhabited, so he quickly moves inside the entrance and away from the buckets falling from the sky. His hair’s already plastered to his forehead, though, and his clothes are far past drenched. The bag of supplies, though, is waterproof enough.

He’s already back to being cold and shivering, but with a fluid determination he unpacks and starts to build a small campfire. His hands are wet, but he hopes it doesn’t matter as he starts rubbing two sticks together and waiting for the smoke to curl upwards.

It doesn’t, and he’s still wet. He wonders, briefly, if this is how he’s going to die – from hypothermia in a cave in the forest, all by himself. Maybe this time it’ll be permanent. He wonders how long it will take someone to find him, and who will tell Octavia. He wonders if she’ll be disappointed to hear that he didn’t make it very far at all.

Bellamy grits his teeth in frustration and keeps going, but he’s running out of energy to move fast enough and it’s still not working. Normally he’s pretty good at this – despite what Octavia and Niylah probably think, he didn’t run off on this quest without preparing himself for all kinds of situations. He doesn’t have magic, and he has no intention of invoking any god or spirit, which meant he had to learn it all himself, and he did. He knows how to start a fire, and yet, here he is, cold, wet, and alone.

Sometimes, though, Zeus must take pity on him.

A small lightning strike sounds outside, followed by the rustle of footsteps. Bellamy stills, quickly digging through his supplies until his hand lands on the hilt of his small, silver dagger. It’s the only weapon he’s got – the only one he feels the least bit comfortable with – and he hopes it will be enough to defend his shelter.

The footsteps grow closer, almost reaching the mouth of the cave. Bellamy crouches, dropping the useless sticks, clutching the dagger tightly. His hair is still so wet that water continuously drips down his forehead and into his eyes, but he doesn’t move.

After another second, a woman slides into the cave before he can do much of anything to stop her. “Ah,” she says, looking at him in amusement, “is this a bad time?”

Bellamy relaxes instantly, dropping the knife at his side and scooting backwards to allow her more room. “Always good to see you, Raven.”

Raven clicks her tongue and gives him a wink as she forcibly adjusts her bad leg so that she can sit down in the cramped cave. She looks much the same as she did the last time Bellamy saw her, which he supposes is the advantage of spending much of one’s time up on Mount Olympus with their godly parent. Her dark hair is up in a tight ponytail, every strand perfectly in place and far away from her face. The jacket hanging loosely off her shoulders is the same bright red one that she’s worn through all the years Bellamy’s known her, which is too many to count. The brace around her right leg, though, had changed quite significantly. The metal seems smoother and thinner, the whole contraption less bulky than it once was.

All at once, the reminder of his wet clothing and the chill setting into his skin comes back to him and he inhales sharply as he shivers. Raven, now seated, glances up at him in worry and then contempt as she sees and grabs the discarded sticks next to him. Quickly, she’s able to get a spark, and a small flame jumps up from it.

“Thanks,” Bellamy says, sheepishly, leaning towards the fire.

“Hey, saving your ass is my job,” she replies, shrugging off her jacket and setting it next to the fire to dry. He scoffs at her response, but they both smile.

He’s known Raven since they were both very young. Her father is Hephaestus, the god of forges and machinery, but her mother was a regular mortal, making Raven a demigoddess. Half-blood children weren’t all that common anymore, but it did happen, and in Raven’s case, it happened tragically. Gods couldn’t stay on the earthly plain for long, and as such, Raven’s mother was abandoned and fell into a steep depression that turned out to be her doom.

Hephaestus was known to be a gentler divinity, though, and took pity on his daughter. Bellamy vividly remembered the day that Raven had been invited to live up on Mount Olympus with him, right in the home of the gods. She’d accepted, of course, and though Bellamy was sad to see her go, he saw her off and thought that would be it.

Hephaestus’ godly wife, Aphrodite, had other plans.

She wasn’t too keen to learn about her husband’s infidelity all those years prior, and quite literally threw Raven off the side of Mount Olympus. The gods lived at the very top, and Raven fell all the way down the mountain, her life only saved by the grace and mercy of Zeus.

Her life was spared, but her leg – not so much. Zeus and all the other gods had refused to heal it, even though they could, to punish Hephaestus for having an illegitimate child. Everyone had gone their separate ways, deciding that good had been done that day, and Raven continued to live on Mount Olympus despite it all.

Bellamy isn’t sure he can understand that choice – not anymore.

“The gods all know about your so-called quest,” Raven says, after they’ve both dried off and warmed up.

Of course the gods know everything – he’d be an idiot to assume otherwise – but hearing that they cared what _he_ was doing somewhat surprised Bellamy. “Yeah?” he says. “What do they think?”

“Well, Hades thinks you’re an idiot,” Raven replies, “but Zeus says you’re fun to watch, so none of them are going to stop you.” It’s not a shock that Hades doesn’t approve – after all, his realm is the Underworld, the very place Bellamy’s trying to illegally enter.

“Oh, is there nothing more exciting for him to see?”

“Apparently not.” At that, another lightning strike sounds outside. In addition to being leader of the gods, Zeus was the god of the sky, and thunder and lightning were his favourite weapons to utilize.

“I’m guessing your father has an opinion, too, since you’re here.”

Raven snorts. “He doesn’t care one way or the other,” she says, “but he knows we’re friends, so he’s fine with me coming to help you.”

Bellamy brings his gaze up to hers and is met with warm eyes that are uncharacteristic for Raven. “You’re really going to help me?”

“Oh, you’re going to need all the help you can get if you’re going to see Hecate,” Raven says, laughing softly. “There’s a reason why she doesn’t live at Mount Olympus, with the other gods, and why she doesn’t keep any contact with them anymore.”

“She’s only a minor goddess,” he grumbles. “Why would she? It’s not like she could live on Olympus even if she wanted to.” Bellamy’s nervous, for a second, speaking ill of the literal goddess of magic, but his distain for magic itself quickly overtakes his nerves.

“True, and that’s part of it, but she’s a notorious opponent of all things the gods decide. Zeus isn’t a fan of any earthly being using magic, as you well know, and Hecate wants to spread her craft.”

Bellamy sighs, poking at the dirty ground with one of the sticks. “Yeah. I do know.” Even though Niylah was a demigoddess, being Hecate’s own daughter, the rest of the gods were strongly against her using any form of magic at all. It was their belief that no one, save the gods themselves, should have that kind of power. It’s one of the reasons, he supposes, that she and Octavia live so far off the radar.

“So, Hecate doesn’t like the rest of the gods,” Bellamy says, after a pause. “So what?”

“_So_, she doesn’t take kindly to visitors, and she has no reason for helping you. You’re related to the girl that stole her prized daughter’s heart, and moreover, you’re just a mortal. She’s got no reason to talk to you.”

Bellamy bites his lip in a futile effort to curb his anger. “I _know_ I’m just a mortal. That’s what everyone keeps reminding me.”

“Do they?” she says. “Or are you just insecure about that yourself?”

“Raven, please.”

“You know that I’m right.”

He throws her a glare, to which she sticks out her tongue in response. Before he can stop himself, he laughs. “I can’t stay mad at you.”

“Yeah,” she says, “I know.”

Outside, the rain picks up speed and velocity, the sound of the water crashing into the forest floor growing more thunderous. The sun begins to set, a blanket of night descending over them. With a sigh of contentment, Raven picks up her now-dry jacket and turns it into a pillow, placing it under her head as she lies down next to the fire.

Reaching into his bag, Bellamy does the same with his own jacket, allowing the peace of the moment to wash over him. “Thank you for coming, Raven.”

“Of course,” she replies, all pretenses gone as it’s just the two of them lying by the dim firelight. She’s beautiful, he thinks – at all times, sure, but especially in this light. Being a demigod of any kind must be hard enough, but Raven had gone through insurmountable hardship in her life, and yet, her spirit still shines.

“Do you remember,” he says, softly, “when we were kids, and the biggest question we had was who our fathers were?”

Raven laughs, softly. “Yeah. We’d make up stories about who they might be. Mine was always a mythical hero, locked in combat somewhere.”

“You weren’t far off.”

Her face grows colder. “I suppose not.” She sighs, adjusting herself to move closer to the fire. “My dad’s nice – he is. But he lets me live with him mostly out of obligation, not out of love.”

Bellamy’s not surprised. “Surely there’s advantages to being up on Olympus, though.”

“Sure, his forge is amazing.” Raven hadn’t inherited her father’s immortality or power, but she did have an uncanny affinity for machines and all kinds of engineering. “But it’s boring, you know?”

He doesn’t. He’d love to live with the gods and be able to ask them what on earth they were thinking when they made all this. “I guess I could see that.”

“I love making things. I love machines. But I’d rather do it on my own terms. I’d rather find the thing that _I_ love, because I decided that I do.”

Bellamy turns to look at the ceiling, so that he doesn’t have to fight the emotion showing on his face. “Yeah. I get that, too.”

A long silence passes between them, when all that could be heard is the roaring sound of the rain and the _crackles_ of the fire, tame by comparison. “I’m really glad I don’t have to do this alone,” he whispers, voice cracking on the last syllable.

When he looks over, she’s fallen fast asleep.

* * *

By the time the rain dies off, the sun is setting in the sky. “Aren’t you friends with Apollo?” Bellamy sighs, sitting at the mouth of the cave, watching the sun sink behind the horizon. Apollo is the god of the sun, of course, which meant the movements of the sun were all his doing. “Can’t you ask him to make the day longer?”

“Sure am,” Raven replies, “but you know very well _no_ god is going to do a demigod a favour, let alone one as massive as _that_.”

And so they resolved to stay the night in the cave, Bellamy only venturing out briefly to gather some firewood and keep the flame going. Most of the wood was soaked, but he got some usable scraps, enough to warm the small shelter.

To pass the time, Raven takes out a knife and begins sharpening twigs she found into small points, and then constructs a tiny fence with them. For a while, Bellamy thinks about carving some pictures on the cave wall. Clarke used to do that, and she taught him how, a long time ago. Before, it brought him a sense of peace, but now when he tries to, he only feels the loss.

Eventually, he gives it up entirely, and resolves to sitting in silence until sleep takes him away.

* * *

According to the map Niylah gave him, Hecate lived at the very base of Mount Polis, the second tallest mountain in the land – the tallest, of course, being Olympus. None of the stories involving the mountain were any good, which kept most travellers far away. Most of those who claimed to have climbed it were liars.

Bellamy and Raven had been travelling for two days now, mostly through jungle terrain as the mountain loomed closer and closer with every step. He could tell the trip was taking its toll on Raven, but he also knew she’d never ask for a break herself, so he kept making up reasons for them to stop. She caught on quickly, but never objected.

“I’ve never met Hecate,” Raven says. The jungle is thinning out around them, a clearing visible up ahead. “But I’ve heard stories.”

“Any of them good?”

“No.”

“Lovely.”

“Oh, she’s really not.”

They make the rest of the journey in silence, quickly coming to the clearing. It reminds him greatly of Octavia and Niylah’s home, the way the trees vanish behind them, leaving them standing in a grassy clearing with a small cabin-like house in the center. Though there are no flowers, leaving the whole landscape very bleak and unwelcoming.

Bellamy doesn’t see a cat, either, which puts him at ease.

“This is it,” Bellamy says, pocketing the map. “What is it with magic practisers living in cabins?”

“The persecution they’d face in the city, probably,” Raven says, dryly, and as much as Bellamy detests magic, he knows she’s not wrong. There are two kinds of people that Arkadia would never welcome willingly – demigods and mages.

Hesitantly, Bellamy approaches the cabin. The clearing is still. Off to their right, the base of Mount Polis stands, the peak too high to see even if they craned their necks up to look. A solitary pathway winds up and around the mountain, looking more and more precarious the higher it goes. Raven whistles in awe, staring up at the mountain. “Consider yourself lucky you don’t have to climb that,” she says.

The clearing stays eerily silent. It’s as if not even a single blade of grass moves, despite the lazy wind circling through the air. Staying on guard for any cats or flower beds, Bellamy approaches door. “I don’t know why I expected something…else,” he says. “_This_ is where the goddess of magic lives?”

“Gods are weird,” Raven replies, dryly.

He steps up the two rickety stairs leading onto the porch, which is completely barren. Still, he cannot hear any noise. “Do you think I should knock?” he asks.

Raven reaches his side and shrugs. “I don’t see why not.”

He’s not ashamed of the nervous look he gives her, before hesitantly raising a fist to do just that. It’s almost touching the door when it suddenly swings open inwards, revealing the most confounding man Bellamy’s ever seen.

He’s a good inch shorter than Bellamy, but he carries himself with confidence and pride. His face, though, captures Bellamy’s attention immediately. His eyes, wide and shining, are lined with a thick black layer of what’s probably charcoal, and a long tattoo snakes around his left eye, starting from the center of his forehead and ending around his cheekbone. His clothing, too, is unconventional – he’s wearing a dark suit, carefully tailored, with buttons done all the way up to the top. A long shimmering cape hangs off his shoulders, sparkling even in the limited light.

Dressed fancily or not, Bellamy knows the hard truth that only slaves bore tattoos, and he’s looking into the face of a man bound into lifelong servitude.

“Um,” Bellamy says, standing in awkward silence for a moment too long. Finally, he realizes that his hand is still in the air, and he immediately clasps his arm down to his side, smiling sheepishly at the strange man.

In response, the man just sighs, his posture almost folding in on itself. He glances over his shoulder and, when he sees nobody there, he mumbles, “Welcome to the home of her Majesty, the all-powerful Hecate. What kind of service may we indulge you in today?”

The delivery is so tightly practiced yet so dully delivered that Bellamy doesn’t know what to say, and he glances at Raven in bewilderment. She only shrugs. “Um, hello,” he says, and then trails off.

The man smirks, dropping pretenses and letting amusement show on his face. “Yes, hello. What service do you want?”

“Service?”

At this, the man’s brow furrows, clearly in annoyance. “Yes, service. What do you want?”

_That’s_ a question Bellamy can answer – for now. “I’m here to see Hecate.”

The man scoffs, crossing his arms. “Yeah, aren’t we all. Do you have an appointment?”

“Uh, no?”

An eye roll and a sigh later, the man steps back and holds the door open, gesturing for them to come inside. Bellamy enters no problem, but as soon as Raven crosses the threshold, she stops and fixes her gaze on the man, looking him up and down. He raises an eyebrow at her questioningly, but she isn’t deterred.

“Raven,” Bellamy hisses, “what are you doing?”

“I’ve never met you,” she says, “but you’re a demigod, aren’t you?”

The man chuckles, then winks at her. “Guilty. As are you, daughter of Hephaestus.”

“Why haven’t we met? And how do you know me?”

“Everyone who knows anything knows about your story,” he says, crossing the room. While the exterior is much the same as Octavia and Niylah’s home, the inside of this cabin is much different. Aside from a few basic chairs lining the wall adjacent the door, the room is barren. Another door, plain as the first one, is on the opposite wall.

“That doesn’t answer my first question.”

The man sighs, pauses, then breaks her gaze. “Please, sit. Are you here for magical counselling or are you seeking to buy a spell?”

Bellamy hasn’t quite recovered from the previous conversation. “I don’t know?” is all he can think to say.

“Right,” the man says. “I’ll just say counselling, then.” And with that, he exits through the door, closing it swiftly behind him. Bewildered, Bellamy quickly takes several steps backwards until he’s seated in one of the chairs. Slowly, Raven sinks down next to him, pulling another chair in front of her to prop up and rest her bad leg. 

He gives her a moment, letting her get as comfortable as she can, before Bellamy gives her the most incredulous look he can manage. “What _was_ that?”

“He’s a demigod, Bellamy, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

“You can _tell_?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t make sense. You’re right, you would have met.”

Raven glances hesitantly towards the door that man had just gone through, and then leans in closer to him, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “You and I both know demigods aren’t allowed. There’s a list, up at Olympus, of all the ones that are alive right now.”

“And he’s not on it?”

“No, it’s just me, Niylah, Monty, and Jasper, and only Niylah and I ever leave Olympus. Zeus is very strict – he wants to keep careful tabs on all of us. But him? I’ve never even heard a mention.”

Bellamy starts to understand where she’s going with it. “So, he’s an _illegal_ demigod. Even more so than usual – no offence, though. You know what I mean.”

Raven stifles a laugh. “Yeah. I guess he is. And that tattoo?”

His heart begins to sink out of sympathy. In Arkadia, at least, slaves were rarely treated with compassion. Most of the time, parents sold their children as slaves to richer families in order to pay off their debts. Said families were quick to place their own brand on these children, and once branded, it was impossible to escape from the torment. “Surely he can’t be a – _slave_, not if he’s a demigod.”

“You’d think,” she replies, “but what if his godly parent, whoever it is, had a debt to pay Hecate? It’d be convenient for them to get rid of their unauthorized child, and the debt would be paid.”

They don’t get the chance to continue their conversation, as the door swings back open and the man re-appears, his cape swinging around his legs in a dramatic fashion. “Hecate says she’ll see you now.”

“Really?” Bellamy says before he can stop himself.

The man rolls his eyes yet smirks in amusement. “I believe that’s what I said, yes.”

Raven stands, leaning heavily on her good side, her bad leg wobbling underneath even the slight strain she’s given it. Wordlessly, Bellamy offers his arm for her to use as support, and she takes it.

“It’s not far,” the man says quietly, holding the door open for them.

Before they pass through the doorway, Bellamy stops to look the man in his eyes, admiring only briefly the way they outshine even his cape. “I didn’t get your name,” he says.

He looks down awkwardly at his feet, biting his lip, the intimacy of the moment lost. “How about,” he says, “I’ll tell you that if you remember this meeting, okay?”

“What?” Bellamy says, but then the man starts closing the door on them, and he’s forced to leave him behind.

* * *

The room they enter is barely lit. The only thing visible is a table with two chairs on the side closest to them. Bellamy helps Raven navigate into one of the chairs, before figuring he should do the same himself, and he sits in the other one. The lighting is so poor that he can’t make out the other side of the table, but he can see a singular string hanging above them, suspended from the ceiling.

Raven gestures upwards. “I think you should pull it.”

“Should I do _anything_?”

“Give it a go.”

With absolutely everything to lose, Bellamy reaches up and gives the string a light tug. Instantly, a bright light shoots on from above, blinding him for a moment. He shades his eyes, blinking several times to adjust.

Across the table sits Hecate.

Whether she was there the whole time or just entered when the light turned on, he doesn’t know, but the table isn’t that large and she’s scarily close to them. Her eyes, he notices, change colours every few moments, switching from gold to green to grey and everything in between. Her hair is mixed with silver and platinum, so long that it descends below the table. She wears a simple, yet elegant, light blue dress, and she clasps her hands in front of them as though she means business.

Bellamy can’t help but notice a half-moon, tattooed on her left hand, that is a perfect match to the man’s face tattoo. He can’t help but narrow his eyes at the literal goddess of magic when he realizes that even she does not place herself above slavery.

She smiles sultrily at them and cocks her head to the side. “Raven Reyes. How’s your dear old mother doing?” she says. Her voice is light, airy, and smooth. Raven’s eyes narrow and she opens her mouth to respond, but Hecate snaps her fingers and cuts her off. “Ah. That’s right – your father’s abandonment drove her insane. _So_ kind of you to continue living with him. Until, of course, he gets bored again, and then it’s off the cliff with you!” Hecate whistles, making a rolling motion with her fingers, gaining speed as the tone of the whistle decreases, miming Raven’s fall.

“My father,” Raven snaps, “did not throw me off the mountain. That was Aphrodite.”

“And she’d do it again!” Hecate slams the table once for emphasis. “Shame. You’d be a real stunner if it wasn’t for the…well, you know.” She gestures down to Raven’s leg and the brace that surrounds it, her expression one of disgust.

“_Excuse_ me?”

“You’re excused,” Hecate says, waving an absentminded hand towards Raven. Her attention is now solely focused on Bellamy. He’s pretty sure he sees her bite her lip seductively, but he isn’t about to ask. “And _who_ are _you_?” she asks, propping her elbow onto the table and leaning her head on her hand, leaning in closer to him. Her eyes switch to a dazzling silver.

Nervously, Bellamy attempts to swallow the lump in his throat, but only ends up coughing. “Hello,” he says. “Um, thank you for, uh, talking to us.”

“Sure,” she replies. “Anything for _you_. Now, handsome, please do tell me your name.”

“Bellamy.”

“_Bellamy_. Oh! Simply marvellous. Now. What is it that you want me to do to you, _Bellamy?_” Each time she says his name, she draws it out seductively.

Bellamy glances over at Raven for support, but she’s pointedly looking away from the conversation, still fuming from the previous remarks. He looks back, his eyes landing on the half-moon tattoo on her hand, his mind bringing up an image of the tattooed man from before, clearly forever bound into a life of servitude. The un-suppressible anger that boils in his chest helps him regain his composure.

“Right,” he says. “I’m trying to bring someone back from the dead.”

Hecate scoffs. “If this person has crossed Charon’s river, then I can’t help you.”

“I know – but I’ve been told that the Fates could do it. And I’ve been told that you’re the only one who knows where they are.”

Her right brow raises. “Oh? So, you’ve been talking about me?”

Bellamy hesitates, knowing he’s bringing up old wounds. “Your daughter told me.”

Hecate’s eyes flash red, the temperature in the room dropping several degrees. She leans back, all pretenses immediately dropped. “I see,” she says. “So, she can’t even visit home, but she has the time to send strangers to my door, asking me for favours.”

Bellamy isn’t sure what to say to that, so he opts to say nothing at all, instead watching as various ruby shades flash over Hecate’s eyes. Finally, the fire in them dims, and she lets out a long sigh. “Fine. You know what? Fine. Niylah wins this round.”

Hesitantly, Bellamy speaks. “Does that mean you’ll help us?”

A sly smile spreads over her lips. “Yes. It does. On a _few_ conditions.”

At this, Raven turns back in and focuses on the conversation. “Of course it does.”

“I’ll tell you where the Fates are,” she says. “I’ll even give you extra help getting there. If the Fates do agree to help you, each one will grant you a wish.”

“Three wishes,” he muses, idly wondering what kind of stories that will inspire down the line.

“Use up one of your wishes to bring your friend-or-whoever back from the Underworld,” Hecate says, dismissively. “But the second. Use the second to wish that my power was equal to that of the other gods.”

Bellamy blinks in surprise. “Is it not already?”

She sniffs in displeasure. “My status is that of a minor goddess, so I am barred from entering Olympus except by invitation. I would like you to change that for me.”

He can’t see the harm in it, except for the way his stomach rolls when he thinks about willingly helping someone who takes others as slaves. “Alright,” he agrees. “And the third?”

“Do whatever you want,” she says. “Wish your friend a new leg or something, I don’t care.”

Raven lets out an angry hum but otherwise, somehow, keeps her composure. “Okay. I agree with your terms,” Bellamy says.

“Thought you might,” Hecate replies, “but there’s one more thing to discuss.”

“One more?” he says. He doesn’t remember asking for any more things.

“How am I to know that you’ll keep your word? You might receive your wishes and conveniently _forget_ about our agreement. Do you follow what I’m saying?”

Bellamy’s brow furrows. “I’ve given my word,” he says, “and I am a man of it. I swear on Olympus itself, I will keep my promise.”

“That’s great and all, except that I don’t trust you,” Hecate responds, placing emphasis on the last few words. “Which is why I’m going to send John with you.”

“John?”

“I believe you were acquainted earlier,” she says. “My absolute favourite possession. He will accompany you throughout your quest, and ensure you keep true to your word.”

Bellamy realizes that John must be the name of the mysterious demigod from earlier. The idea of dealing with his company isn’t exactly appealing, but he doesn’t mind, and he can’t deny how curious he is to hear his story and how he got here – and who his parent is. “Okay,” he says. “It’s a deal.”

“Perfect!” Hecate claps excitedly. “The Fates’ home is at the very top of Mount Polis.”

Bellamy’s jaw drops. There are no windows in the room, but he knows the mountain looming just east of them is inhumanely tall. “We’re supposed to _climb_ it?”

“That’s right.”

“And how _exactly_ am I supposed to get up there?” Raven asks, her eyes narrow.

Hecate glances at her, and then lets out a long sigh. “Fine. You know what? I’ll be nice and I’ll _poof_ you up there. Okay? You can hang out with the Fates while you wait for your friend to make the climb.”

“I don’t need your help!” Raven snaps, but Bellamy shoots her a warning glance of _now is not the time_. It’s selfish, but he really does want Raven to be able to accompany him further.

Bellamy doesn’t want to push his luck, not after Hecate was kind and granted Raven passage, but he feels a little slighted. “Couldn’t you just send us both up there? Surely it’d be faster.”

“The Fates wouldn’t allow it,” Hecate says, studying her nails. She sounds bored. “That’s why they’re all the way up the mountain. Mortals have to earn their audience with them. The Fates don’t grant favours to the gods – or demigods, by association – and either way, your friend isn’t the one doing the wishing, so it doesn’t matter if she climbs or not.”

He leans over closer to Raven. “Hephaestus can’t help you?”

“He’s done enough for me,” she says, “and I’d rather not owe him anything.” With a sigh, she turns back to Hecate. “Alright. Thank you.”

Hecate only hums in response, still focused on her cuticles. “Well, then. I suppose you best be going!”

She stands, moving towards the doorway. Hesitantly, Bellamy rises from his seat as well, offering his hand to Raven. “Now?”

“Now,” she agrees. “There’s still daylight in the sky. Why waste it?”

He supposes he shouldn’t have expected anything else from a goddess. Once Raven’s standing, they follow her out the door they came in and back to the plain, white room. The demigod – _John_ – is nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll send some supplies with John,” Hecate sighs, “considering the fact you’re a mortal. How is that for you, by the way? Aren’t you terrified?”

He can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Terrified?”

With intense stormy eyes, she studies him closely. “I could just _snap_ you in half.”

“I, uh. Yeah?”

A moment of silence passes between them, before she smiles once more and her eyes flicker into a light lilac shade. “Perhaps another time.” Behind him, Raven stifles a laugh.

Bellamy’s saved from any more odd conversation as the front door opens and the demigod from earlier enters. His moments are careful and precise, but Bellamy swears he can see a flash of fear cross his eyes when he sees Hecate standing with them. It doesn’t last long – gracefully, he kneels, lowering his head into a bow. “Your Majesty,” he says, his tone flat and complacent.

“Rise,” Hecate replies dismissively. He does so, but remains with his head bowed, staring at the floor. “You’re right on time, anyways. I assume you met our guests earlier?”

In response, John gives only a slight nod, catching Bellamy’s eyes for only a moment. Almost instantly as he meets his gaze, he drops it down to the floor, breaking eye contact after only mere moments. Bellamy doesn’t take it personally – he can’t imagine what rules about that sort of thing Hecate enforces. “Yes, ma’am,” he says.

“Good,” she says. Hecate _snaps_ her fingers. Instantly, a shining knife appears in her grip out of thin air. Bellamy blinks out of shock, which doesn’t go unnoticed – Hecate turns to him, clearly amused. “All _good_ mages have access to the Nether.”

The thought of magic still makes his stomach turn, but he’s too far in it to _not_ ask. “The Nether?”

She sighs. “I always forget that mortals know _nothing_ of my craft anymore. Yes, the Nether – another dimension in which objects can be stored and summoned from. I keep everything there.” It explains the lack of interior décor, at least.

He’s only just wrapped his mind around the fact that a knife is now in corporeal existence that had not existed moments before, when Hecate snaps her fingers again and a large black bag appears in her hands. “The supplies I promised,” she explains, throwing the bag at Bellamy, who manages to catch it, though he stumbles a bit under the surprise weight.

“Right then,” she says, “now that I’ve held up to my end of our deal, it’s time for you to hold up to yours.”

“I will.”

“I’m sure.” Bellamy’s beginning to think that everything Hecate says is meant to be dismissive. Throughout the exchange, John has stayed silent, keeping his head bowed to the floor. The unsettling feeling in Bellamy’s stomach only grows the longer he thinks about that. “Anyways,” she says, “time for my favourite party trick. John!”

He’s not prepared for what happens next. Mechanically, John’s head snaps up to face Hecate directly. His arms fell straight flat to his sides, every muscle in his body tensing. Bellamy watches with horror as his eyes, once deep brown, cloud over and turn completely white. Both iris and pupil vanish, the entire area filled with a gray shimmer. It’s as if there are literal clouds swimming through the space where his eyes used to be.

Beside him, Raven gasps quietly in horror, gripping tightly onto Bellamy’s arm. “She _wouldn’t_,” she whispers, clearly understanding what was happening.

“You are to accompany Bellamy on his quest. You are to go wherever he goes until _I_ tell you that your job is done. You will not willingly leave his side. Furthermore, you are to take this knife and keep it in the Nether. Should Bellamy go back on his word or betray me in _any way_, you are to kill him with it.”

Stiffly, John approaches Hecate and takes the knife she’s offering, snapping his fingers just as she had done so. The knife disappears as quickly as it had been brought into being. With that done, John steps back to his original position. After a few seconds, he blinks, the clouds vanishing and his eyes returning back to normal. It’s too easy to notice the stunned expression in them, and the way he blinks twice more in discomfort, before hanging his head once more. This time, though, the bow isn’t purely out of formality – he looks exhausted.

Hecate glances at Bellamy, finding joy in the fact that he can’t stop staring at the scene of horror displayed before him. “Isn’t it fun?” she says. “He’ll do _anything_!”

He doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t want to say so in front of a goddess, so he says nothing at all.

She seems to catch onto his displeasure, furrowing her brow, before nodding. “Oh, I understand what the issue here is. You’re jealous.”

“I – what?”

“You’re jealous that you don’t have one of these for yourself!”

“_No_,” he snaps before he can stop himself.

Hecate’s eyes narrow noticeably. “Don’t tell me you’re one of _those_ people who can’t appreciate the true luxuries of life, such as this.” John shuffles his feet, awkwardly, and Bellamy’s heart twists in anger. He’d reply to Hecate, if he wasn’t so confident he’d start screaming at her, and minor or not, the goddess holds all the power. At his side, Raven’s grip on his arm tightens. “No matter,” she continues. “It’s time for you to be off then, yes?”

Bellamy glances outside, seeing the sun just start to set behind the clouds. “It’s going to be dark soon,” he says.

“Does it look like I care?”

“I just mean–”

“Good_bye_, Bellamy,” Hecate says, firmly.

He bites back a retort and nods, turning towards Raven. “Be safe,” he says, “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

She gives him a grim look, briefly glancing over at John. “It’s an obedience charm, Bell,” she says. “They’re highly illegal and just downright _cruel_. There’s no telling the things that she’s ordered him to do, that he’ll _have_ to do.”

“It’ll be okay,” he promises, but he can’t deny the sense of unease twisting around his insides. “It has to be, right?”

Raven nods, giving him the brightest smile that she can manage at the moment, which isn’t all that bright. “Good luck, Bellamy,” she replies, squeezing his arm once more before letting go. “And don’t die on me.”

He turns, hoisting the bag of supplies over his shoulder, then locks his eyes back on Hecate. “You’ll grant her safe passage up the mountain?” The few seconds of silence that follow almost convince him that Hecate wouldn’t have followed through if he hadn’t asked.

She rolls her eyes, but waves her hand and out of thin air, a shimmering light appears in front of Raven. Bellamy turns to try and look inside, but the image on the other end isn’t clear. “Just a run-of-the-mill portal,” she says, clearly exasperated with them both.

Raven takes a deep breath, gives Bellamy a mock salute, and then steps into the light. The instant she passes the threshold, both she and the _portal_ disappear. There’s not much he can do now but hope that she’s now standing at the top of the mountain, waiting for him to follow.

He hopes that she’s okay, because he isn’t sure he can handle this quest turning into bringing _two_ souls back from the dead.

John’s already at the door, holding it open for him. “Don’t forget our deal,” Hecate says, and he nods, exiting the cabin as quickly as his feet can take him.

As the door shuts behind him, his mind flashes back to the last thing Niylah asked him to do. _Make sure my brother is alright_, she’d asked of him, yet Bellamy hadn’t seen anyone else around, except –

John’s only a few paces behind him. Suddenly, it all becomes far too clear and despite the successful visit to a goddess, Bellamy feels sick to his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if any of the mythology isn't super clear feel free to just ask me! didn't want to overexplain in the fic itself but i still hope it's clear enough that it makes sense to those not so familiar.
> 
> my twitter is, as always, @iexasheart.


	3. the idols

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idols - prejudices and preconceived notions possessed by the individual.

The mountain is frighteningly tall. Wind whips through Bellamy’s hair as he climbs the rocky trail upwards. Thankfully, someone long ago created a small pathway winding up and around the mountain. A little less fortunately, this trail is slowly getting rockier and more unsteady the further up he climbs.

John hangs back only a few steps behind him, carefully matching his pace so that he doesn’t have to walk side-by-side Bellamy – or, perhaps it’s so he can watch his every move, and jab a knife through his chest when he decides he’s done something he doesn’t like.

_That’s not fair_, he thinks, and it’s true. It’s not fair at all.

The sound of footsteps behind him fades slightly, and he turns to see John stopped, fighting with his cape that is, in turn, fighting with the wind. It’s amusing, for a moment, to watch the fabric fly this way and that, wrapping around John’s torso in a desperate effort to not fly straight. Briefly, Bellamy considers continuing up the path, but then wonders if that will be enough for the whole obedience-thing to kick in and he’ll end up with a knife in the chest before the sun has even set.

“Just take it off,” he calls.

The look John gives him is of pure annoyance. “No.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. “Okay, then let’s go.” John grumbles at this but nods and hesitantly walks forwards. Still, the wind is buffeting against their backs and the cape is having _none_ of it. “It’s just going to fly away, anyways,” Bellamy points out.

John grumbles and shoots him yet another look of displeasure, but he follows it up with a resolute sigh this time. Gingerly, he unbuckles the cape and folds it neatly. The care he takes with it is unlike anything Bellamy’s ever seen or would have expected. Clearly, John cares about it dearly, and he may as well have a knife in his chest for how much his stomach drops when he thinks about how rudely he addressed the issue. “Here,” he says, sliding his bag off his shoulders, “I can carry it for you.”

“It’s fine,” John says, but it’s softer this time. He’s still staring at the cape, now folded into a neat square in his hands. He rubs his thumb over the fabric, almost affectionately, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. A moment of serenity passes, just like that, before his expression hardens once more.

“Why don’t you put it in the – what did she call it? The Nether.”

“I already have something there.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, the knife. You can’t put more there?”

To this, John gives no response, and instead, just stares affectionately at the fabric. There’s something more here, that much is obvious, but he doubts that this is the right time to press the issue.

“I can carry it. It’s no problem,” Bellamy insists. Finally, with some resistance, John carefully slides it inside the open and offered bag. Bellamy closes the drawstring, hoisting it back onto his shoulders. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

Bellamy tries to offer a smile, but a wave of sympathy rolls over him. “Listen, J-”

“_Don’t_,” he snaps, so quickly that Bellamy’s throat closes up on him and the words die. The expression on John’s face fills with fury, small fires dancing in his eyes. His fist, the same one that had previously been so delicate in holding the dazzling cape, he now holds tight with anger, raised up but not up all the way, as if he’s debating whether or not he does want to punch Bellamy.

“Don’t?” Bellamy repeats, quietly. His eyes are wide, and he softens his stance. The last thing he wants is for John to feel threatened, but he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong.

John holds his position for a few more seconds, before visibly deflating. “It’s fine,” he mutters, abruptly turning away and shoving his way past Bellamy, his shoulder pushing him out of the way. Bellamy’s not expecting it and takes several steps backwards until his back is pressed up against the side of the mountain. A few pebbles that his sudden movement displaced bounce down the path. John keeps moving forwards until he disappears from view, having continued past the next curve in the mountain’s trail.

Bellamy stops there, resting his weight against the mountain. The sun is just now starting to trickle below the horizon, the familiar heavy air of dusk setting in. Despite the situation, and despite that last encounter that he can’t quite figure out, Bellamy thinks that it feels nice to just _feel_. He doesn’t think he’s taken a moment like this since Clarke –

It’s as if the air around him, once pleasant, drops fifty degrees and he shivers at just the thought of her name. He knows it’s selfish of him to waste any time at all on this quest, when Clarke’s eternal soul is quite literally at risk. After everything she’s ever done for him, he can’t afford to wait.

Still, though, he can’t deny the beauty the sunset holds, even if it comes with a blanket of shame that he must now drape around his shoulders for having stopped to view it.

In the end, it’s not his decision to move on from the moment. “Are you coming, or what?” John yells from somewhere up ahead. With a sigh, Bellamy resolves himself to continue the upwards climb.

As he rounds the corner, he sees John, stopped in place. He doesn’t turn around when Bellamy approaches, and instead, just stands completely still. “You alright?” Bellamy asks, trepidatiously. He doesn’t know what set him off last time, but he knows he definitely doesn’t want to do it again.

“Sure,” John replies. He still doesn’t move, or even turn his head when he speaks. Bellamy narrows his eyes. There’s something else going on here, he knows that much, but he wishes he had Clarke’s intellect in moments like this. “Are you _going_ to get up here sometime this century, or is this where the trip ends?”

Bellamy knows he should say something, but he doesn’t know what, and he’s terrified of making things worse, so he swallows his pride and keeps moving. As he reaches John’s side, though, it’s like a cord snaps and all the tension in the demigod’s muscles leaves at once. He tilts forwards, only barely catching himself, feet skidding through the gravel path. Out of instinct and nothing else – he thinks – Bellamy reaches forwards and plants a protective hand on John’s shoulder, steadying him. “What just happened?” he asks, before he can think about it and stop himself.

John just grits his teeth and sighs, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. “It’s, um,” he begins, but then lets out a haughty breath and doesn’t say another word.

For a moment, the two of them stay like that, with Bellamy’s hand pressed firmly on John’s shoulder, the setting sun creating a lazy orange halo around their heads. In this light, John’s eyes appear softer, Bellamy thinks, and for the first time he looks somewhat at peace.

Maybe it’s all an illusion, though, because in the next instant he’s shaking Bellamy’s hand off him, turning away and marching up the mountain. This time, though, he maintains a closer proximity to Bellamy, not slipping out of sight.

He calls back after a few minutes, “There’s a shelter up ahead. Let’s stop for the night.” When Bellamy turns the corner, he sees what is meant by _shelter_ – whether it be there naturally or by some poor hiker’s creation, long ago, there is a small hole in the side of the mountain. The rock looks sturdy enough, and it’s large enough that the two of them can stay in it comfortably, but that’s about all.

Once they’re both sitting inside, Bellamy pulls the bag of supplies into his lap and begins to dig through it. There’s not a whole lot, but from the little he knows of Hecate he isn’t surprised. There’s a first aid kit, some clothing, water and food, but he can’t find anything to start a fire with, and there are no trees or plants of any kind growing on Mount Polis that he can use for kindling. “I don’t suppose you can cast fire magic,” Bellamy mutters, more to himself than John.

He’s not expecting a response, but he’s definitely not expecting the look of pure defeat and self-hatred that passes across John’s face. “No,” he spits out, shoulders sagging in defeat, head _thumping_ against the rock wall of their shelter as he stares up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. Bellamy’s done a similar thing enough times to know he’s fighting back tears.

“It’s okay,” he starts to say, but John holds up a hand to stop him.

“You figured it out, then,” he says. “I’m – she’s my mother, my godly parent.”

Bellamy’s throat grows dry. “Yeah, I…Niylah mentioned having a brother.”

The smile of pure delight that forms on his face is almost beautiful, and it would have been absolutely radiant in any other circumstance. “Wanted you to check up on me then, huh?”

“She did.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her.” He stops, then, staring wistfully off into the distance. The sun creeps even lower in the sky, and Bellamy can’t fight the chill overtaking his body. It’s beginning to remind him of the persistent cold that plagued him when he was brought back from the dead, and that’s not a memory that he’d like to revisit anytime soon.

“Well, I don’t know if you need a fire, but I definitely do,” Bellamy sighs after a moment.

John furrows his brow for a moment, before his eyes widen. Slowly, he raises his hand. He lets out a deep breath before he _snaps_ his fingers, a ripple of wind flying through the air from the movement.

Nothing happens for a moment, and Bellamy’s about to risk asking what the intended effect was, before a wrapped bundle of wood flies up the mountain side and then lands right next to John, bouncing roughly on the ground before coming to a stop. “Did you summon that somehow?” Bellamy asks, staring at the wood in wonder, not sure if it was going to start flying again.

“Sort of,” John answers. “I have air magic. Sometimes, I can use the wind to carry objects to me.” It’s the most explanation he’s gotten out of him tonight, and Bellamy’s not about to push his luck. Instead, he starts arranging the logs and sticks into a basic firepit, then sets to work creating a spark. He’s got more luck than last time, it seems, and it doesn’t take long to get a small flame going.

“So,” Bellamy says, passing John some bread and water that Hecate had packed them, “you have air magic?” John grunts his assent, but doesn’t say more. The silence that passes then is almost excruciating – Bellamy’s got so many questions, and John seems to lack the willingness to give any answers. Tentatively, he tries again. “Listen, J–”

“_Stop!_” John practically screams, eyes going wide and fists curling in defense once more, just like last time. Bellamy holds up his hands in surrender, but this time he doesn’t say anything, and instead fixes John with a quizzical look, waiting for him to explain. Slowly, he calms down, relaxing back into his previous position. “Just don’t say my name,” he finally says. “Call me – you can call me Murphy.”

Bellamy nods, not in understanding, but in kindness. “Alright,” he says.

Silence passes between them once more, John – no, _Murphy_ – giving him a look of appraisal the entire time. “You didn’t figure it out, did you?” he finally says. The sun’s now almost entirely fallen behind the sky, the moon rising upwards to claim her domain. Only the light of the small fire flickers across Murphy’s face, the shadows defining more of his features than the flames can.

“I thought you said I had,” Bellamy counters. “You’re Hecate’s son.”

Murphy cringes at the sound of her name, but tries to hide it. “I am. But – there’s more. I thought you knew. I thought you were doing it on purpose.”

“Doing _what_ on purpose?”

“The – I heard your friend Raven say it. The _obedience_ charm.” It’s obviously a hard thing for him to say.

“I think I understand.”

“No, you – anytime someone says my name, it happens.”

Bellamy blinks, still not fully following. “You don’t mean…”

_“Yes_. It’s not just her. _Anyone_ can…order me around, or whatever.”

“Anyone?”

“Yep. It doesn’t matter who. The moment someone says my name, it…it activates the charm, and I have to do whatever they tell me to.”

In that moment, Bellamy’s blood runs cold. “She wouldn’t do that,” he whispers. “I mean – she’s a goddess. Surely they have some concept of right and wrong.”

Murphy just blinks, unfazed. “I’m a bastard child,” he says. “The gods don’t care what happens to me, and after what happened, she certainly doesn’t. This is my punishment.”

“I don’t know your story, but I know that whatever happens doesn’t call for _this_. It’s inhumane, Murphy.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not human, then.”

“Why would she do that? Why wouldn’t she make it so only her could have that power?”

“Because,” Murphy says, as if the answer is simple, “it’s my punishment.”

Bellamy’s lips purse, but he doesn’t speak, mostly because he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. “Okay,” he says, “well, I won’t say your name.”

“Why not? You could.”

“I won’t.”

“You could. It’d be so easy to just _order_ me to tell you everything you want to know.”

Anger bristles beneath Bellamy’s skin. Murphy leans forwards, closing the distance between them rapidly, as if sensing the tension. “I _won’t_,” he repeats.

Murphy’s leaning forwards onto his hands, the fire dancing dangerously right at his side, his face inches from Bellamy’s own. “It’d be the easiest thing in the world,” he whispers. The rest of the world fades away, and it’s just him, Murphy, and the crackling of an open fire. “Now that you know I’ll do _anything_.”

“Why are you doing this? I told you – I won’t.”

Murphy bites his lip, staring down at him. “You sure?” he whispers. Bellamy’s heart begins to beat faster, though he’s not sure if it’s in anger or – or something _else_. “I won’t fight back. You just say my name…and that’s it. You get to do whatever you want, and I won’t say no.”

He feels like melting under Murphy’s gaze, but he hardens his expression and looks him right in the eye. “No. I would _never_.”

Murphy holds his position for a second longer, before letting out an unamused chuckle. “You really mean that, don’t you?” Slowly, he draws back, breaking the tension forming between them. They both stay silent, even long after Murphy’s back in his original position.

Finally, when Bellamy’s calmed down enough, he speaks. “No one has ever said no to you before, have they?”

“I don’t usually get an opportunity to ask,” Murphy replies, “but those I do always say no, at first.”

“At first?”

“Nobody wants to admit that they crave complete power over somebody,” he says, “especially when there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Bellamy frowns. “There’s been nobody?” he asks. “Nobody has ever – I don’t know, treated you like a human being?”

“Thought we established I’m not human.”

“You know what I mean.”

Murphy sighs. “There was one, once.”

“What happened to them?”

The light in Murphy’s eyes dims, and he looks at the ceiling. “It’s late,” he says. “Get some sleep.”

“Murphy…”

“This has been fun and all, but we’re on a business arrangement,” Murphy snaps, abruptly turning away from him and lying down on his side, facing away from the fire and towards the barren rock wall of the shelter. “Best to keep it that way and not drag up demons from the past, hmm?”

Bellamy just sighs. “Sure,” he says, but Murphy’s already tuned him out. Bellamy sits, for a moment, watching the rise and fall of Murphy’s chest before the light outside dims to absolute darkness and he can’t see anything past the trembling flames.

Without much of an option left, he lays down, turning his back towards the fire and, by extension, Murphy. He isn’t sure he can fall into any type of sleep if he spends too much time thinking over the exchange that’s just happened between them, if he spends too long focusing on the genuine shock in Murphy’s expression when he turned him down. He didn’t want Bellamy to say yes – this much is obvious – but perhaps, as sick and twisted as it is, it’s Murphy’s way of regaining the sliver of control he has. If, in his mind, it’s going to happen eventually, it might as well happen on his own terms.

It doesn’t make it any better, and the realization of this doesn’t put Bellamy’s mind at ease in the slightest. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do or say to get Murphy to relax around him, to open up – if either of them even _want_ that. After all, Bellamy didn’t ask for him as a companion. Murphy definitely didn’t ask to join him on his quest.

He hopes Raven is okay. He hopes Clarke is okay. He hopes that, eventually, one day Murphy will be okay. And himself? It doesn’t really matter, he decides, staring at the barren rock wall of the shelter. If Raven were here, she’d already have invented some way to make their climbing faster and cut their trip time in half. Clarke would have carved drawings into the rock, making her creative mark in the world, making even the most basic of scenery unquestionably beautiful. Murphy, he isn’t sure, but he can tell he’s got ideas, and he can tell that he’s got a genuine sense of the world. He found the shelter – he started the fire. He’s practical. He’s a survivor.

Bellamy just lies in the mouth of a cave shelter in the side of a mountain, and he does none of that, so he decides it doesn’t really matter if he’s okay or not, as long as the job gets done.

He doesn’t look at Murphy throughout the night, but he doesn’t get much rest anyways.

* * *

The next day passes slowly, yet all too quickly. The trek is monotone at best, and they only stop a few times to eat or drink. Bellamy attempts asking Murphy a few questions, but never gets a straightforward answer to any of them. Eventually, he just gives it up.

“We’re getting close,” Murphy says, as they turn past a corner on the trail for the millionth time.

“Close to the top?” Bellamy asks, incredulously. He thought the trip would take much longer, and would be much, much harder.

“Yeah,” Murphy replies. He’s running his hand along the rocky side of the mountain as he walks, fingers pressing down at certain points, as if he’s searching for something. Bellamy debates asking him, but he can already guess that he won’t get a response. Surprisingly, this time he continues unprompted. “The last part of the climb is the hardest.”

“What do you mean?”

The trail ascends upwards, suddenly, into a steep hill that isn’t too long, so it isn’t too difficult to make it up. At the top, though, the trail cuts out entirely. To their left, the mountain drops down completely, and though the path they’re standing on isn’t too thin, Bellamy’s stomach turns when he peeks over the side and glances as the pure distance it is to the bottom.

“You planning to jump?” Murphy asks, dryly.

“What? No!”

“Then don’t look. Won’t do you any favours.” It’s sound logic, and though he’s definitely a safe distance from the edge, Bellamy takes a step closer to the wall of the mountain, anyways.

The trail has evened out into a small, flat landing, but in front of them the mountain caves inwards and is impossible to walk on. Hesitantly, Bellamy looks up, and is disheartened to see that the top of the mountain is still out of side, hidden in the clouds. Wind rips through his hair and over his skin as he stares at the rough, rocky mountainside. He’s pretty sure he can guess what’s coming.

“Alright,” Bellamy sighs. “Let’s get climbing, then.”

Murphy just scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I admire your dedication, but cool your jets, hotshot. We’ll do the climb tomorrow. There’s something I have to do, first.”

It’s Bellamy’s turn to scoff. “No, let’s climb _now_. If this is the end of the trip, then we might as well finish it now.”

“We won’t make it before the sun sets, and I have business.”

“_Business?_”

“Yeah.” He’s leaning over the rock wall, now, pushing it in various spots. Nothing is happening because of it, but he keeps doing it all the same.

Bellamy just shakes his head. “A day might be the difference between getting Clarke back and having her be stuck there forever, you never know!”

“Clarke, huh?” Murphy says, emphasizing the last syllable of her name, drawing it out to fill the air. “So that’s who you’re doing this insane quest for?”

His eyes fall to the ground, but then he puts on a fake aura of bravado and looks at Murphy again. “Yes. And time is of the essence, so let’s _go_.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Murphy, please.”

“I said – _tomorrow_.”

“_Now_!” This time, Murphy doesn’t even dignify him with a response, and instead keeps poking at the cave wall. “Are you kidding me?” Bellamy cries. “This is my quest, and we’re going _now_.” Still, he gets no answer. “Are you even _listening _to me? John!”

He realizes what he’s done immediately and takes a couple steps back in surrender. It doesn’t matter – the effect is instant. Murphy stands straight, stiff as a board, and then turns around to face him. For a moment, Bellamy feels lost as he stares in the space where his eyes should be, feeling sick when all he’s met with is clouds.

“No,” he whispers, dread filling every part of his being. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this at all, but he’s done it – he’s taken Murphy’s free will away, stripped all of him back and forced him to become _this_. And it’s his fault. It’s entirely his fault. Nobody made him do this.

“Stop,” he says, but Murphy doesn’t move, and his eyes stay lost behind the clouds. Bellamy wonders, briefly, what it must feel like – is he aware when it happens? Does he feel trapped, lost within himself, unable to see past the grey? Or does he not remember it at all? Bellamy’s not sure which one would be worse.

(If he’s honest with himself, he does think about asking Murphy something, just to get an honest answer. He could find out all about his past, his powers, Hecate, or what he knows about the Fates. He could ask him anything – he could make him be honest with him, always. He pushes this notion aside instantly, knowing how cruel it is, but he feels even worse to have thought it at all).

He does know he can’t leave him like this, so he takes a deep breath, centering himself, before he forces himself to look at Murphy directly in the space where his eyes should be. “John,” he says – though, this time, the name feels thick on his tongue, and though he knows it’s necessary, it hurts him to say it, “wake _up_.”

It takes a second, but then Murphy blinks, the grey clouds slowly dissipating. His dark brown eyes return, and his body relaxes, almost too much. Surprise and exhaustion overtake his expression, but most of all, Bellamy winces when he sees the betrayal. “So much for saying _no_, then, huh?” he says once he’s regained his composure.

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy says, stepping forwards. He’s not surprised when Murphy steps back to keep his distance, but it hurts all the same. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t _want_ to – it was an accident.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t do anything.”

Murphy just laughs, once, very dryly. “And how am I supposed to know that? How am I supposed to know you didn’t just make me _forget_ whatever you told me to do, huh?”

Bellamy’s lips tighten, heart sinking in his chest. “I’m sorry. I am.”

“Whatever,” Murphy says, turning away from him, pressing down once on the rockface. This time, the rock quite literally vanishes underneath his touch, shimmering as it fades from existence. Bellamy can only watch, entranced, as the surface fades, creating a tunnel just large enough for someone to fit through. At this point, with the amount of magic he’s seen the past few days, he can’t even pretend to be surprised to learn that hidden doorways and pathways, probably only accessible to mages and non-mortals, exist.

Hesitantly, yet with a look full of disdain, Murphy glances back at him. “Almighty quest leader, do you give me permission to enter this doorway?”

Bellamy knows he deserves it, so he takes the comment without a fight, though he bites his tongue to keep a response back. “What’s through there?”

“You’ll have to find out, won’t you?”

He supposes there really is no alternative. He could attempt the climb alone, but that’s twice as dangerous, and he doesn’t think he could make it a couple more feet without doing whatever it took to make it up to Murphy and appease the roaring guilt now finding a home in his chest. “Alright,” he says, “fine.”

With the sun just starting to set behind him, he follows Murphy into mysterious tunnel. Later, he’ll realize that in that moment, he wasn’t thinking about Clarke at all, and later, he’ll have to come to terms with that guilt, too.

* * *

Over the past couple of days, Bellamy has seen and fallen victim to more magic than he’d previously witnessed in his lifetime. He wonders when exactly he stopped being surprised by that.

At first, the newly-revealed tunnel is small and claustrophobia inducing. They’re headed somewhere _inside_ the mountain, and Bellamy’s not too sure what could possibly be in there save for some rock, but pretty quickly the tunnel widens out. There’s a large cavern ahead of them, somehow lit, this light shining through the tunnel and guiding their way. “How is this possible?” he whispers. Murphy’s laugh reminds him he’s following a demigod – pretty much anything is possible at this point.

Murphy doesn’t hesitate when he reaches the mouth of the cavern, entering it swiftly. Bellamy’s got no choice but to follow. The area is quite plain – it’s circular in design, with the mountain rock acting as both the walls and the ceiling, curving together to form a dome-shape. As he takes a step inside, the tunnel behind them shimmers and disappears, a rock wall forming in its place. Though he knows that it’s a fake, magic-activated doorway, Bellamy can’t help but gently press on the rock to confirm this. It’s solid underneath his touch.

In the center of the cavern is a small body of the most crystalline water he’s ever seen. Completely undisturbed by outside forces or winds, it sits completely still. The blue it radiates is the absolute purest form of the colour. Several upturned stalagmites line the edges of the water. For a moment, he’s so entranced that he doesn’t even notice the girl seated at the edge of the pool, her toes daintily swirling the water.

She looks up in surprise when they enter, and Bellamy gives a hesitant wave. She doesn’t look dangerous – but lately, he’s realizing it’s impossible to tell. All she wears is a simple, dark blue gown, save for a thick blue grey glove that covers her left hand. Her hair is long, dark and shiny, her eyes a deep brown. Her attire is simple, and her demeanour is innocent, but what strikes Bellamy most is the snake-like tattoo that encircles her left eye, covering part of her nose as well. It’s not exactly like Murphy’s, but the style is enough for him to recognize that she, too, has been branded by Hecate.

“Murphy,” she says, relaxing she sees the demigod. “It’s so good to see you again.”

With a warm smile that Bellamy didn’t know he was capable of, Murphy approaches the girl, sitting next to her and embracing her tightly. She leans over to return the embrace, but Bellamy notes that she never leaves contact with the water, nor does Murphy seem to want her to.

After a while, they break apart, and she looks over at Bellamy. “Who is this?”

He’s about to answer, but Murphy does it for him. “That’s Bellamy, the latest fool of a mortal to think Hecate _or_ the Fates will do anything good for him.”

Bellamy’s jaw drops, which makes the girl chuckle. “I’m not a fool,” is all he manages to say.

Murphy turns back to look at him, dark judgement in his eyes. “As I said,” he responds, “you think Hecate’s doing anything to help you.”

“She _did_ tell me where the Fates are.”

“Sure, and then she made you climb a mountain to get there.”

Bellamy’s eyes narrow. “She said that I had to prove myself to the Fates, that they wouldn’t listen to me if I _didn’t_ climb the mountain.”

Murphy just scoffs. “That’s what she _said_. Doesn’t make it true.”

“You mean–”

“The Fates don’t care how you get there. You don’t have to prove anything to them – they’re the _Fates_, the most powerful beings in the universe. They already know everything about you just by looking at you.”

It feels like someone’s slapped him in the face. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I know better than to question Hecate in her presence.”

_She’s your mother_, he wants to say, but he’s already crossed the line once today and isn’t eager to do it again. The girl at the pool seems to notice his discomfort, and gestures for him to sit by them, which he does, slowly. Murphy swivels so that he’s facing them both at once, as does the girl, but Bellamy notes once more that she keeps one foot in the water.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bellamy,” she says once he’s seated, her smile wide and genuine. “I’m Emori.”

He returns the smile, then takes a second to gaze around the cavern. This time, the appearance does not seem to be deceiving – there is nothing else there but the pool of water. “Do you – is this your home?”

Her eyes soften, her expression saddening. Great, he thinks – it’s been less than a minute and he’s already made her sad. “No,” she says, quietly. Her voice, though mournful, is melodic – almost in tune with the vibration of the water, he thinks. “This is my prison.”

“You don’t have to talk about this,” Murphy’s quick to say, casting Bellamy a judgemental look.

Emori waves him off, though, with her un-gloved hand. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ve – I’ve come to terms with it as best as I can.” She turns back to Bellamy, gesturing around her. “I’m a river nymph. My life source is the water. I used to live in the great lake next to Mount Polis, with my family and my clan, all nymphs of different kinds.”

“But – there is no lake at the base of Mount Polis. There never has been.”

“There was,” she says, gently, “a long time ago. Hecate wanted to build her home there, though, and destroyed the trees and the meadow, before she began to dry up the lake. Many of my brothers are sisters were killed, but I led the rest in an uprising against her. As you can guess – we didn’t win.”

Bellamy inhales sharply, thinking of how barren the landscape appeared when he and Raven came across Hecate’s cabin. He wonders what it used to look like, before she decimated it, and though he’s never known it to be different, he mourns. “What happened?”

“Hecate killed all of them, except for me. She cast this brand on me,” she explains, gesturing to the mark. “I can never leave this cavern. As I derive my strength and life source from the water, she put this pool here, but the water is unnatural. It does not strengthen me – merely, it sustains me, keeping me close enough to life to be aware of my suffering.”

Bellamy doesn’t know what to say, but he finds his gaze turning to her gloved hand. Emori catches him looking, and glances down at the floor, clearly somewhat ashamed. “It is disfigured,” she says. “Once, very long ago, I attempted to evoke her pity. I stayed out of the water, and my hand was the first thing to die. Hecate was not happy I had done so and cast two more spells – one to keep my hand from healing, and one to make sure I never left contact with the water again.”

Once again, he glances at the cavern, seeing how over half the space had absolutely no contact with the water. “You can never leave the water?” he asks. Murphy grumbles something about him being a _fool_ under his breath, but Emori takes no notice.

“It’s easier to show you,” she says, carefully drawing her foot out of the water and rising to her feet, taking a couple steps back from the edge of the pool. At first, nothing happens, but then it’s like an eerie sense of déjà vu. All at once, every muscle in her body stiffens, and her eyes vanish, replaced by the very same clouds that plague Murphy. In one fluid motion, Emori bounds towards the pool and then dives in, completely submerging herself. The water falls still quickly, her figure just visible underneath the surface.

Bellamy only starts to panic when after several seconds, she doesn’t come up for air. “It’s fine,” Murphy says, noticing. “She can breathe better under there.”

He turns out to be correct when, after another moment, Emori emerges, though she keeps herself submerged from the neck-down. Her hair is soaked, yet still somehow looks perfect, and she seems more alive than she just was. Bellamy’s never met a nymph, though he’s heard of their existence, and he now starts to realize what she meant when she said her life source was the water.

“So, you see,” she says, swimming closer to the edge, “why Murphy’s right when he calls you a fool for trusting Hecate at all.”

Bellamy bites his lip, nodding. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Emori.”

“It’s fine,” she says, dismissively waving a hand, though he can tell it’s most definitely not. “It happened many a century ago.”

“_Century_?”

“Yes. Nymphs do not have a conventional lifespan like mortals.”

He feels a sudden anger, then, that he hasn’t felt since his visit with Niylah. “Can’t the gods do something? Can’t the _Fates_? Surely this is – it’s inhumane.”

“For the last time, we’re not humans,” Murphy mutters, and under any other circumstance, this would be hilarious.

Emori just gives a sad smile once more. “It is well within a god’s right to kill and imprison when it is in self-defence,” she says, clearly quoting something that had been told to her long ago. “And the gods don’t particularly care about what goes on down here, anyways.”

“They just don’t want to piss Hecate off,” Murphy says.

“That, too. As for the Fates? Well, they have the power to do anything, but they cannot interfere with _any_ coming or going on this plane of existence, unless they are granting wishes for a mortal who successfully petitions their help, which, I suppose is what you are attempting to do.”

“I – Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Truly, I wish you luck with that,” Emori says, and suddenly, she sounds a whole lot more like Murphy. “The Fates haven’t helped any mortal in just as many centuries as I’ve been alive. I believe most of them die while attempting to petition their help.”

Bellamy knows that’s likely the result of his quest, but he thinks he’s already come to terms with that. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Sure, you do,” Emori says, swimming right up next to the ledge, grasping it with her fingers, but staying suspended in the water. “There’s no magical walls imprisoning you anywhere.”

“I know. But I have to do everything I can for Clarke.”

Emori nods, drawing her arms onto the surface and resting her head on them. “Clarke. I see. And what is it that Clarke needs?”

“I – she’s, um, she’s dead.”

“Is she? How did she die?”

“Sacrificed to the Minotaur.”

Emori lets out a sigh. “I see. I don’t live in the mortal plane anymore, but Murphy’s told me of this so-called sacrifice. Am I correct in saying that fourteen citizens get sent to the Minotaur to be killed during this process?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re on a quest to bring Clarke back from the grave.”

“Yes.”

“_Only_ Clarke?”

Bellamy’s eyes narrow and, unconsciously, he draws into himself, hugging his knees to his chest. “It’s different. I didn’t know the other ones.”

“Right. It’s different.” Murphy’s smirking off to the side, clearly enjoying the exchange without taking part in it.

She sounds far too much like Niylah for his liking. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you,” he says, “but you don’t know me, and you don’t know my life, alright? I have to bring back Clarke after everything she’s done for me, and if I don’t, then I have _nothing_ left.”

Emori fixes him with the softest, saddest look he’s ever seen. “Do you not think that Clarke would want you to respect the natural order of things and carry on with your own life? Would that not serve her memory more effectively than dying on a foolhardy quest?”

He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought of it that way, but every time he considers it, he’s assaulted by memories of her blonde hair and bright smile, of the way she’d always be there for him no matter what was happening with his family, of the way she’d supported him through Octavia’s disappearance, of the way she promised him she’d marry him, even though they didn’t love each other that way, so that they could avoid the government’s watchful eye, the way that she screamed his name _over and over and over_ when they took her away to die.

“Clarke’s done everything for me,” he says, voice low and careful, “so I’m going to do whatever it takes for her.”

Emori’s silent. She only stares at him for far too long before shrugging. “It was nice to meet you, Bellamy,” she says, and then she dives under the water, disappearing below its surface.

It doesn’t take long for Murphy to interject, “She’s not wrong. You know that, right?”

And yes, he _does_, but what is it that makes everyone think he wants to hear that? “It’s late,” he says. “Goodnight.”

Murphy doesn’t stop him as he retreats back to a corner of the cave, sitting with his back against a stalagmite, head resting against the rough wall. He doesn’t even attempt to close his eyes or sleep.

* * *

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there when Murphy comes over and sits in front of him. “Hey,” he says, “I’m sorry if we upset you, earlier. Emori is, too.” The look on his face is full of genuine remorse.

Bellamy sighs, then straightens his back to sit upright, raising his head to meet Murphy’s gaze. He glances over at the water, where Emori’s still circling below its surface. “It’s fine,” he says. “She’s got reason enough to be harsh.”

Murphy responds with a low, dry chuckle. “Yeah, ain’t that the truth.” He pauses, searching Bellamy’s face for – for what? Hostility, maybe? “I’m sorry, too, that I didn’t tell you about visiting her,” he continues. “I do it whenever I can, but I don’t – I _didn’t _trust you.”

“No, no, don’t worry about that,” Bellamy replies, rubbing his temple to cure himself of the incessant headache he’s had ever since he was born. “I’m sorry, too, you know. For – For what I did.”

Murphy looks down at the floor, but quickly recovers and smiles. “It’s okay. It happens. It _is_ my name, after all.”

The lighting in the cave is extremely low, the water itself the only source of illumination. After a moment of hesitation, Bellamy decides that this is the time to ask certain things he’s been holding out on. “What does it feel like?” he says. “When it – when people say your name.”

Several emotions flash over Murphy’s face as he asks this. Immediately, he grows defensive and slinks back, for a moment, but then he softens and relaxes when he looks back at Bellamy. Perhaps he’s taking pity on his current vulnerability. “It feels dark,” he finally says.

“Dark?”

“Yeah. I can’t see anything, can’t hear anything outside of the command being given to me. Sometimes I remember being spoken to. If I don’t, then I know that I’ve been told to forget what it was I’ve been ordered to do.”

“Does it hurt?”

Murphy lets out a long breath. “Yeah. It does.”

Bellamy feels even worse, then, because it’s now confirmed that he’s at fault for bringing him pain. Still, he knows he’ll never have a moment like this with Murphy ever again. “You said before that there was someone who had never done that to you,” he says, then holds back, hoping the vague prompt is enough.

Surprisingly, it is. “Yeah,” Murphy replies, looking off to the side as a smile creeps over his face. “John Mbege.”

Bellamy’s careful not to parrot the name back. “Mbege?”

“He was mortal,” Murphy says, suddenly very quiet. “Like you, in a lot of ways. He was…a dreamer. Idyllic.” There’s a pause. “I…I loved him.”

Bellamy lets another pause pass, taking note of the _was_. “I’m sorry.”

Murphy continues on as if he hadn’t said anything at all. “Niylah ran away with Octavia, and I was going to run away with him. We had a whole plan set out, Niylah and I, and it worked, up until the very end. Hecate regained composure faster than we thought she would, but she only caught one of us.”

And there it is – the event responsible for the trepidation in Niylah’s voice when she had asked him to check up on her brother. The whole time she’d been building a happy life with Octavia, she’d been feeling guilty about what she left behind and, probably, could never return to. “Oh,” is all Bellamy can say.

“After that, Hecate branded me, publicly claiming me as hers,” Murphy explains. “I mean, Niylah and I basically already were servants for her, but we had the option to say _no_. She took that away from me and put her mark on my face, so everyone would know.”

He’s growing angry, now, bitterness seeping into his words. Bellamy thinks he already knows, but his inhibitions feel lower around Murphy. “What happened to – to Mbege?”

“She killed him,” Murphy says, so flatly and plainly it takes Bellamy off guard. “Hecate thought it was funny that we shared a name. It’s why she chose to bind the obedience charm to my first name, so that I’d have to hear it, and that in my weakest moments, I’d have to think about him.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Yeah. It is.” Murphy’s laughing again, but it’s his signature low, dry laugh, the one that puts Bellamy on edge.

Bellamy stops again, thinking about how far he can press the issue. “What did he look like?” he finally asks.

Murphy’s eyes widen, not expecting the question, but wordlessly he snaps his fingers. In his hand is now a folded-over piece of paper, blackened around the edges, as if someone had tried to set it on fire. Gingerly, Murphy flattens the page, turning it around so Bellamy can see. On the paper someone has drawn the portrait of a young man, around Bellamy’s own age. He’s smiling, and he is beautiful. “Did you draw this?” Bellamy asks.

“No, Mbege did,” Murphy says. “He was an artist. I had to convince him to draw this of himself, though, so I could always have it. Hecate tried to burn it, after it all happened. She doesn’t know I saved it.” He snaps again, and the picture disappears.

“That’s why you keep it in the Nether, then? So she doesn’t find it?”

“Yeah. It’s the only thing I keep there.”

“The only thing?”

Murphy’s smile grows smaller. “Hecate, long ago, _ordered_ me to only ever have the ability to keep two things in the Nether. I keep the picture, and I leave one open, for whatever silly commands she gives me next.”

“Like the knife,” Bellamy says, with a grimace.

“Yeah. Like the knife.”

He thinks, then, about the command that she gave Murphy back in the cabin. “She told you to come with me,” he recalls. “Is that why – before, when you went on ahead of me, you had stopped moving until I caught up?”

Murphy scoffs. “Yeah. A mistake on my part. I forgot how literal her commands are.”

“You _couldn’t_ move,” he repeats. A chill sets over his bones. He’s in the literal prison of a girl who did nothing but protect her home, accompanied by a boy who has never known anything but trauma and had his very free will stripped away when he tried to love someone.

“Yeah, genius,” Murphy sighs. “Child of Hecate or not, her magic is always going to be stronger than mine.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine having her as a mother.”

“I’m starting to think living with my father would be better, and he’s a literal cloud.”

“A – what?”

Murphy’s lips upturn into another laugh. “Yeah, that’s the cherry on top of the whole thing. My father is Zephyrus, a god of the winds. He doesn’t have a physical embodiment – he’s a _cloud_.”

It explains the clouds that overtake his eyes when the obedience charm kicks in – Hecate’s got a cloud obsession. It _doesn’t_ explain a lot of other things, one more than the rest. “Then – if your father is a god, too, then you’re _not_ a demigod, you’re actually a god!”

“Yeah,” Murphy laughs. “I’m a god, in eternal service to _another_ god, who happens to be my mother. Isn’t it fun?”

“I – Niylah?”

“Demigod,” he says. “We’re half-siblings. Her father is long dead, but human.”

“Don’t – don’t the gods care that one of their own is in your situation? Shouldn’t they help you?”

“Bellamy,” he says, fully serious, “I would have thought you’d learned by now. The gods _don’t care_.”

Out of everything he’s learned today, he’s realizing that that’s the grand takeaway. If they wanted to, the gods could have freed Emori and Murphy. They could have accepted Raven and given her a happy home. They could have prevented Mbege’s death, or saved Octavia from a life of exile. They could have stopped Jaha’s tyrannous rule and if they had cared one bit, they could have saved Clarke’s life, too.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” Murphy says, interrupting his train of thought. “I think you should, too. We have a _long_ climb tomorrow.”

Bellamy nods, and this time, lets the conversation fall into silence. He thinks if he did try and speak, he’d only end up crying.

* * *

When they wake the next morning, Bellamy finds himself just as disheartened. Sometimes he’d go to bed and rise the next morning with a new perspective, but his conversation with Emori and then Murphy seem to have only had the opposite effect.

“You’ve got some bedhead,” is all Murphy says to him as they organize their gear – which doesn’t take long – and say their goodbyes to Emori. Self-consciously, he runs a nervous hand through his hair, trying to flatten the wayward curls.

“Truly, I wish you the best of luck on your journey,” Emori says to him. She’s sitting at the edge of the pool, her feet submerged. “If you survive, come visit me afterwards, alright?”

“Sure,” he promises, leaning down to give her a hug when she offers. It’s quite literally the least he can offer her when she’s trapped in endless suffering.

Emori turns to Murphy, then, and they hug tightly without even saying anything to each other at first. “Thank you,” she says, when they break apart, “for always making sure I’m okay.”

“You’d do the same for me,” he says, and then with obvious remorse, he turns and leads Bellamy out of the cavern, pressing his hand against the rock wall. The tunnel appears just as it did before, the light at the other end much brighter, indicating the sun was at its peak.

Bellamy doesn’t speak until they’ve made it out of the tunnel and watched the rock wall shimmer back into existence. “I understand why you didn’t tell me about her,” he says, “but in the future, you can. Tell me about this kind of thing. We don’t have to make this trip a straight shot, you know, if there’s somewhere else you’d like to go.”

Murphy just sighs. “Thanks,” he finally says, then directs Bellamy’s attention upwards. “But for now, it’s time to climb.”

Bellamy was hoping that somehow it would look less daunting in the morning light, but the sheer rock face is just as terrorizing. The mountain’s slope cuts off here, somehow, and turns into a flat wall, almost completely vertical. There are footholds, sure, and a few visible ledges he can see before the mountain disappears behind the clouds, but nothing to ease their journey besides that. “How are we going to do this?” he asks.

“You let me go first, hotshot,” Murphy says, giving him a _wink_ of all things.

“Not a _hotshot_,” Bellamy mumbles, but Murphy pretends not to hear and grabs a rock, pulling himself up with ease. “You’ve done this before.”

Murphy doesn’t turn his head, instead focusing on the placement of his feet. “That I have. Now follow me, step where I step, and stop talking.” He doesn’t have to repeat himself.

At first, Bellamy feels confident. The distance to the path they were standing on before isn’t that high, and sure, the wind feels like ice against his skin, and yeah, the thin clothes he’s wearing aren’t doing much to guard him from the elements, and no, his boots are not made to grip flat rock faces, but he’s making decent progress and keeping Murphy within view –

beneath his right foot, a rock splits in two, and his foot flails.

“You good?” Murphy calls back.

“Yeah,” he says, once his foot has found new ground. He is good, but it’s a reminder to focus.

They carry on this way, rising higher and higher, stopping only a couple of times as thick enough ledges come into their path. On one of these ledges, as Bellamy’s pulling some water for them to share out of his bag, Murphy looks at him with what is almost admiration. “I’m impressed,” he says.

“Are you?”

“You’re still alive.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Murphy just laughs, this time light and full. “Thought this trip would crash and burn already, especially around this part, but…you actually can hold your own.”

Bellamy scoffs. “Yeah. I _can_.”

Murphy raises his hands in surrender, but the sentiment is real, and though he’ll never admit it, Bellamy’s secretly proud to hear it.

They continue the climb all too soon. “This is the last stretch,” Murphy says, just as they’re getting hold in the rock. “We’re almost there.”

Nodding, Bellamy lets out a breath, then pulls himself up after Murphy.

It doesn’t seem possible, but the mountain seems to grow steeper, the rocks more brittle underneath his hands. He’s tired, at this point, and losing strength. Still, though, he pulls himself up, time after time, mirroring Murphy’s movements. It’s for Clarke. It’s always been for Clarke.

Emori’s words ring through his ears. _Do you not think Clarke would want you to respect the natural order of things? Would that not serve her memory more efficiently?_

He shakes his head, clearing him of the thought. He doesn’t notice that Murphy’s kept going all this time and pulled himself over the top of the rock wall, now leaning over the ledge and watching him with a careful eye. “Hurry up!” Murphy yells, voice just carrying over the roar of the wind.

Right. He focuses again, and keeps going.

He’s almost to the very top, almost to the point where he can pull himself up over the ledge, when the words attack him again. _Would that not serve her memory more efficiently_? It’s as if Emori’s right next to him, whispering in his ear, and she’s _right_, but he can’t stop _now_,

and he places his right foot on a protruding rock, only to have it crumble underneath him, and he falls.

His foot flails wildly, searching for a spot to put itself, while his hands, not expecting to suddenly hold up his entire weight, begin to painfully skid off the rocks. His left foot twists, awkwardly, and then slips off the surface it had been held on. His hands can’t hold on, and all too quickly his left slips off, and then his right loses its grip, too.

Several things happen at once.

He looks Murphy in the eye, feels guilty that he’s about to leave him all alone after making him come on this trip with him. He hopes that Emori has a better life, hopes she knows that it’s his own fault for taking her words too seriously. He hopes that Clarke will be happy to see him. He hopes that it won’t hurt.

He realizes that Murphy’s not growing any smaller in his view. He realizes he’s _not_ falling, and he realizes that Murphy’s leaning almost fully over the cliff, holding on firmly to his right forearm.

Bellamy’s life has just been saved, and all he can do is hang there. It’s like the energy is vanished from his body and he just stares at Murphy’s pained expression, watches him strain to keep both himself on the ledge and Bellamy from falling. “Murphy?” is all he manages. Why doesn’t he let go? Why does he care?

“Don’t you worry, Bellamy,” Murphy says, through gritted teeth, “I won’t drop you!”

Bellamy tries to grab hold of the rock then, he does, but his hands are cut up to hell and he can’t get a grip. His left ankle is definitely twisted, maybe more, and the whole foot won’t cooperate. He doesn’t know what to do, but Murphy’s leaning further and further off the ledge, getting dangerously close to falling himself. “Murphy!” he yells, over the wind, “You have to let me go!”

“_No_! Shut up and help me!”

“Murphy! Let me go,” he says, and he wonders if this, if falling, is the easiest way to go about getting back to Clarke, anyways. He already did it once – what’s one more time?

“No!” Murphy roars. His grip only tightens, but Bellamy’s not going anywhere.

His heart sinks. He knows what must be done, and it hurts him, but if he’s going to save Murphy’s life, then he has to. “Please,” he says. “Drop me.”

Murphy doesn’t say anything this time, only fixes him with one of the most pleading looks he’s ever seen. It makes Bellamy’s heart ache. He doesn’t want to fall, he thinks – it will hurt, he’s pretty sure. But he’s not about to take Murphy with him. Suddenly, it becomes less about Clarke, and less about what will help her, and more about _him_.

He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to be this person again, but, he hopes that it’s a means to an end situation. Murphy seems to sense what he’s about to do and nearly screams. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you _dare_ do this to me!”

Bellamy only looks up at him, heart heavy. “John,” he says. He watches a tear fall from Murphy’s eyes before they’re gone completely, and the haunting clouds overtake his vision. Still, though, his tight grip on Bellamy’s forearm remains – if anything, it’s strengthened. Regardless, Bellamy’s resolve doesn’t crumble, and though he thinks he’s now crying himself, he keeps on steady. “John,” he repeats, “let me go.”

For a second, the grip on his arm relaxes, and he _slides_, but then –

“_No._”

With a cry, Murphy grabs his hand and pulls, hoisting Bellamy up the cliffside. He grabs his other arm, lifting him high enough that Bellamy can finish the job, pulling the rest of his body up onto the ledge and away from the attack of the wind. For only a second, he lies on his stomach, catching his breath, but then the reality of the situation hits and he sits bolt upright, staring at Murphy with wonder.

He’s just fast enough to watch the clouds slowly vanish from Murphy’s gaze, his bold brown eyes returning. “Murphy,” Bellamy says, breathlessly, “how the hell did you do that?”

Murphy seems just as caught off-guard. “I – I don’t know,” he says, eyes moving back and forth a million miles a minute, trying to put the pieces of the impossible puzzle together. He looks up at Bellamy, and the two share a moment of pure wonder, before it’s replaced by absolute fury. “How could you ask me to do that?”

“I – I thought–”

“Don’t you _ever_ do that again!” Murphy yells, and he gets to his feet quickly, prompting Bellamy to do the same. “I could have dropped you! Don’t you get that? You could be _dead_!”

“I was trying–”

“I don’t _care_!” Murphy’s standing only an inch from him. He raises his hands to Bellamy’s shoulders as if to shove him, but they only hover there before latching on, pulling him in closer. Bellamy doesn’t realize what’s happening until Murphy’s buried his face in the crook of his neck, hugging him tightly, with passion, and maybe with a bit of fear.

They stay like that for a long time, yet not long enough, before Murphy lets him go and backs away. He swipes a tear from his face, trying to make it so Bellamy doesn’t notice, but neither of them really care. “You might be able to do that again,” Bellamy says, softly. “Maybe it’s easier, because I’m mortal, but – there might be a solution, Murphy.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Murphy says, and then throws his head back into a laugh. “Maybe!”

Bellamy can’t help but laugh, too, and soon they look absolutely ridiculous but are too caught up in the joys of the moment to care. “You were going to fall off a cliff!” Murphy cries, pointing a finger at him and laughing again.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, tears forming at the corner of his eyes as he doubles over, holding his gut as the laughter starts to hurt. “You were going to let me!”

Like all good things, the moment dies, and they regain their composure. “Right,” Murphy says, the remnants of laughter still in his voice, “back to business, then.”

Bellamy sighs, but nods, and then turns to look at where it is exactly they’ve found themselves. The amount of clouds and fog in the air makes it hard to see too far ahead, but he can see a – staircase?

As he ventures forwards, he sees that the top of the mountain descends into a valley, almost, with the very top a ring, and a staircase made of rock showing the way down. “Don’t tell me we just climbed a mountain only to climb all the way back down, _inside_ the mountain,” Bellamy groans.

“It’s not all that far down,” Murphy promises. “Come on. It’s almost time to meet the Fates.”

“I guess it is.”

“That’s where you’re _real_ trouble begins.” Murphy looks up again, smiling at nothing but the feeling of the sky on his face, before bringing himself back to earth and clapping Bellamy on the back. “After you, hotshot.”

There’s no other way to go but down, it seems, and he’s gotten this far. He can’t end the quest now, even though that’s starting to sound like an appealing option. Is it selfish to do that, when Clarke might be suffering? Maybe. Maybe not – maybe it’s the natural order of things.

He has a feeling Murphy will drive a knife into his chest, though, if he suggests they turn back now, especially after all that. There’s not really a choice anymore, if there ever was.

Without further hesitation, he begins his descent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was a DOOZY.
> 
> special thanks to charlie and elle for listening to me ramble about this and indulging me in the brainstorm sessions. could not do it without you both. also special thanks to everyone following me who put up with me ranting about this on the tl without even knowing what i was talking about, and not unfollowing. your patience is appreciated.
> 
> i have no timeline for this fic, as mentioned, so my apologies, but this a long meaty chapter and hopefully it'll tie you over. most importantly, i hope you like it. please let me know any thoughts at all. talk to me on twitter @iexasheart, if you like. have a wonderful day!


	4. the covenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> covenant - in which a god makes certain promises to his people, and usually requires certain conduct of them.

There are no banisters with the stairs, and somehow the rock feels wet. Bellamy wonders if he’ll end up falling down these, too, and it will all have been for naught. As he climbs down, he thinks he might just end up falling anyways. Banisters or not, his hands are still cut up all over, his left foot still screaming any time he puts weight on it. Long ago, he’s stopped trying to calm the mess of curls on his head, and he knows his clothes are ripped and covered in dirt. No matter which way he looks at it, he’s not in the best way.

Still, he descends.

The light gets dimmer and dimmer as they continue their downwards climb. Bellamy wishes he had a candle, or a torch, or _something_ to use as a source of light. He could ask Murphy to summon something, probably – he’s not too sure how his magic works, or what the limitations are – but a small part of him still detests the craft and he can’t bring himself to approach the subject. More importantly, and more pressingly, he doesn’t want to ask Murphy to do anything for him, not after what happened at the cliff. There’s something – no, there’s – he’s –

he has no idea how he’s feeling about the literal god behind him who defied a curse as powerful as the universe itself just to save his life, but really, Bellamy’s _never_ known how he’s feeling, so there’s nothing new there.

If he were a better person, perhaps he’d ask Murphy how _he_ was feeling, and build his own answer off of that. It’s important, he knows, to make the other person happy, and his own feelings come secondary to that. Truly, it’s not as sad as it sounds, though he thinks Clarke would disagree.

_Clarke_. She was afraid of the dark, he remembers now as he takes another step downwards. He uses his hand as a guide against the wall, to steady himself against the lack of light. Despite the rough rock that stings as it glides against his already cut-up hand, he’s struck with the memory of the way she’d grab his arm and _squeeze_ when the candles went out, back home, back when things were simpler. He’d just laugh and light up another one, and she’d return to drawing, or carving, or just talking, and all would be right in the world. They’d talk about their days and their lives and Clarke would gush about the girl in the next village over, and while their marriage was one of convenience under the law, at least there was companionship in it. She’d move mountains for him every day, and he’d light a candle in return.

And yet, here he is, inside a mountain without a candle to guide the way.

The stairs end, abruptly, causing Bellamy to almost trip and fall. His exhausted muscles scream at him as he regains his balance, but he remains standing as Murphy joins him at his side. With the lack of light, he can’t see much of their surroundings, but it appears to him that they’re standing in a barren pit. “What now?” he asks.

“Wait for it,” Murphy replies, as if that’s helpful in the slightest.

“Wait for what?”

Murphy shoots him a glare, his tattoo making his face appear even more shadowy in the dim light. “I _just_ said to wait.”

Bellamy promises he’s not normally this irritable, but he’s still hurt from the cliff, he’s hungry, and he just climbed up a mountain only to climb right back down. “For _what_?”

“Well, if you don’t wait for it, then it won’t happen, alright?”

“Murphy–”

“When I have ever let you down? Hmm?”

“_Murphy–_”

“I believe I _just_ hauled your ass up a cliff, and as the saver of _your_ life, I’m telling you to wait.”

Bellamy fumes silently for a few seconds. In the background, he can hear water _dripping_ from the rock wall onto the ground, echoing all around them. “You don’t have to be so cryptic all the time.”

“It’s part of my charm.”

“I swear to the _gods–_”

Murphy turns his head so swiftly that Bellamy stops talking, looking him right in the eye. “You swear _what_ to the gods?”

It’s then that Bellamy remembers he is, indeed, talking to a god.

He’s about to make his retort when a sudden warmth fills the air, the source unseen. “Ah,” Murphy says, a smile creeping onto his face, “there it is. I told you all you had to do was wait.”

Bellamy can hear a kind of _hum_, starting low but gradually growing louder and louder. The warmth encompasses the entire area, surrounding them, and in front of them a bright light appears. The onset is so sudden that Bellamy has to shield his eyes, squinting through nearly closed lids. To both his horror and amazement, Murphy keeps his eyes wide open, staring at the light.

The light grows larger, expanding out towards them, and for a moment all around the pair is a warm glow. _Clarke would like it here_, he thinks despite the discomfort Bellamy’s feeling. He looks over once more to Murphy, and sees a scowl on his face, clear evidence that he’s not loving the feeling, either. Bellamy decides that this response is a more sensible one.

A door opens.

It sounds wrong and out-of-place – perhaps because it most definitely _is _– but suddenly through the massive halo of burning light, a door _clicks_ and swings open towards him. He can’t see what’s beyond the threshold, but the hinges groan loudly as the frame shifts. Questioningly, Bellamy glances at Murphy, but he doesn’t look fazed. “Go on, then,” Murphy encourages.

“Really?” He still can’t see anything else except for the doorway, the light engulfing the rest of their surroundings.

“Really. This is it.”

“It doesn’t – I mean, I’m not–”

“What, you thought a golden chariot would come up to meet you or something?”

Bellamy’s cheeks flush even warmer. He hopes the light around them hides it. “Well, when you say it like _that_…”

“Yeah, I know. Now _go_!”

He takes a step towards the door, then pauses and glances back. “You’re coming too, right?”

Murphy just smirks. “I’m compelled under a curse to follow you everywhere, so yes.”

Bellamy narrows his eyes. “Yeah, I know. But, like – you’re coming too, right?”

Both their eyes soften as the meaning is understood. “Yeah,” Murphy replies, after a moment of silence. “Of course I am.”

Content with this answer, Bellamy steps forwards through the door. He takes a few more steps into the empty void in front of him, hearing the door _click_ shut behind them. The light vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared.

It’s eerie, the silence that surrounds them. He knows that if Clarke were here, she’d already have grabbed onto his arm and held tight, and instinctually he stops and reaches out his hands, trying to feel Murphy’s skin somewhere in the dark.

He wonders what Clarke would say, if she knew that he was trying to replace her. He thinks, oddly, that she wouldn’t think of it like that, and he shouldn’t, either. Somehow, this puts his mind at peace for a moment.

Bellamy blinks, just once, and when he opens his eyes, he is somewhere _else_.

The first thing he knows is that he’s standing on a cracked marble floor. Once, a long time ago, he’s sure that it shined, but now it’s covered in dirt and wear and enough imperfections to rival his own. The tiles alternate black and white, and he’s sure that it looked phenomenal when the flooring was laid down, but now, some of the tiles are missing and the pattern only feels incomplete.

Slowly, he raises his gaze to take in the rest of the giant room he’s now standing in. Much of it matches the floor – once beautiful and powerful, and now in the midst of decay and destruction. There are no doorways anywhere on the ground level, but the walls rise impressively high to meet a ceiling almost too far away to see. Tall, awe-striking pillars stand at the corners, holding up the domed golden roof that is trying to shine, but is covered in stains of time. Bellamy’s standing at the center of the room, and on either side a staircase winds upwards, meeting at the middle to make way for a large over-hanging balcony. He notes that the left side of the staircase is made of stone, and looks intact and preserved, while the right side is made of pure gold, and several steps are broken all the way through or chipped at the edge.

None of this matters when his eyes land on what must be the Fates themselves. Three women stand on the balcony, staring down at him, each one carrying herself with power and grace. On the left, standing at the top-most stone step, is the tallest of the three. Her cheekbones are just as sharp as her gaze that seems to cut through Bellamy’s very core. Her eyes are surrounded by heavy layers of something like charcoal – far more extreme than Murphy’s – and her hair is left long and down, though the strands that would have fallen in her face are tied in a complex braid. She is dressed in a long gown, much like Hecate had been, but hers is a bold black. At her hip, just visible past her gown, is a blunt, dull dagger.

His gaze moves to the woman standing on the topmost right stair, the only golden one that looks completely untouched and intact. She is dressed much fancier, with a high-class fur coat hanging off her shoulders. Her hair is done up in a complex series of braids, done to such a degree that Bellamy would assume she were a woman of status if he’d seen her in the village. The rest of her clothes are all stark white, as is the paint covering her face, exposing only her eyes. He’s never seen something like it before. She doesn’t appear to have any knives like the other woman, but across her back is a bow and a quiver full of arrows.

In the very center of the balcony, with her hands clasped on the ornate railing, is the final Fate. Her hair is the wildest of the three, a seeming mess of curls that were born to be unruly, much like an extreme version of his own hair. Her clothes are simple, yet sturdy and practical, something very much like Bellamy or Clarke would have worn day-to-day back home. Her features are soft, the gaze she gives him full of sympathy, yet wonder at the same time. Contrary to the other two, she appears unarmed.

“Bellamy Blake,” the third Fate, the one in the center, says. Her voice is soft, but it carries a certain rasp to it, as if she’s aged a millennium in less than a minute. “You have earned an audience with the Fates. What is it that we can do for you?”

And, well, huh.

It all _hits_ right at once – his injuries, his hunger and thirst, but most of all, his pure exhaustion. It’s as if the adrenaline from the cliff is sucked right out of his body. As he stares up at the three most powerful beings in the universe, his knees begin to tremble and all he can say is, “_Oh_.”

The center Fate raises an eyebrow, clearly confused, but he can’t find the energy to focus on her for another moment. Instead, his legs start shaking with exhaustion and then give out, all too quickly, and he’s falling backwards, but he doesn’t hit the floor, because –

“Murphy?” he manages to whisper. His vision is starting to blur together, but he holds awareness long enough to register Murphy catching him and gently lowering him to the ground.

“Yeah, I got you,” Murphy whispers, very quietly, directly in his ear.

Bellamy shivers, suddenly aware of just how _cold_ he is. “Murphy, I–”

“Shh,” he gets in response. “You’re good. I’ve got you, okay? You’re good.”

He doesn’t know why he needed the confirmation, but it puts his aching mind and body at ease, and he allows his eyes to close and he lets himself begin to drift off into a much-needed rest. Really, he thinks, he should stop doing this kind of thing.

The last thing he’s aware of before he drifts off completely is Murphy’s voice. “Mortals,” he says, “so fragile, am I right?”

* * *

_She still plagues his dreams, even though they’ve come all this way. _

_“Bellamy!” she howls, her voice cutting through the night sky like a knife. “Help me! Help me, please!”_

_“I am!” he roars back, but the wind buffeting the area drowns out his words. “I’m trying! I’m trying to help you right now!”_

_“Bellamy, please!”_

_“Am I doing the right thing? You’ve got to tell me if I’m doing the right thing! I can’t help you if you don’t tell me if I’m doing the right thing!”_

_“Bellamy, please!”_

_Please, indeed._

* * *

Bellamy’s eyes open slowly, every muscle and bone in his body screaming at him to rest just a little longer. Time, though, he knows is limited, so he grasps consciousness tightly and refuses to let it go. He’s sure he’s already wasted enough time.

He blinks a couple times, adjusting to the waking world. When his vision comes into focus, he sees the most welcome sight that he’s ever seen – Raven’s sitting beside him, a soft smile on her face. “Hey, Bell,” she says, her voice quiet.

“Hi,” he croaks out, sitting up even though it hurts. He’s still on the marble floor, the same one he’d fallen onto. Raven’s next to him, now at eye-level, her red mechanics jacket a stark contrast against the regal aura of the building. Still, he’s incredibly relieved that Hecate kept her word and gave Raven safe passage. Now that she’s safe and accounted for, Bellamy’s mind wanders to someone else.

He doesn’t have to look far. A little ways away from them, resting his back against the wall, is Murphy, who seems to be more interested in his cuticles than either of them. “You lived,” Murphy says, once Bellamy’s stared at him for several seconds in silence.

“I did.”

“Good. That’s good.”

It hits him, then, that he really _hasn’t_ been moved from the very spot he passed out. “How long has it been?” he asks.

“Not long,” Raven says. She’s digging through Bellamy’s bag of supplies, which he must have dropped somewhere during the whole fainting business. “Maybe an hour. Here.”

“An hour? And you all left me on the floor?” He’s pretending to be offended, but his pride does slightly sting.

“Inside is better than outside,” Murphy says, dryly.

Raven just rolls her eyes, and then passes him a bottle of water, which he eagerly accepts and drinks most of. His body still protests every movement, but he feels more awake now, so he supposes that’s something. Hesitantly, he glances up at the balcony, somewhat relieved to see it empty of the three women. “I didn’t miss my chance, did I?”

Raven laughs, albeit somewhat sadly. “Of _course_ that’s what you’re worried about. No. You didn’t. You’re supposed to go up there when you’re ready.”

He nods, then starts to stand. “Whoa!” Raven exclaims, reaching forwards to pull him back down. “Not so fast!”

“You passed out from just standing up,” Murphy calls, reminding him.

“The Fates will wait for you,” Raven adds.

Bellamy just sighs, shaking his head. “Yeah, maybe they will, but Clarke might not have much longer. I can’t wait.”

He pretends not to notice Murphy rolling his eyes and instead focuses his attention on the scowl Raven’s giving him. “Bell, Clarke’s not _going_ anywhere. Okay? She’s in the Underworld. We know that for sure. Regardless of what I think about your quest, she’ll still be there by the time you’ve finished it. _But_,” she says, raising a finger to stop him from interrupting, which, he definitely would have otherwise, “you won’t actually _finish_ if you end up killing yourself from exhaustion on the way, okay?”

Reluctantly – very, very reluctantly – he admits that she has a point. Still, though, he doesn’t want to stay lying on the cold, dusty floor, so he forces himself to stand anyways. This time, Raven doesn’t stop him, and instead throws her hands up in the air in defeat. “Well, I tried,” she says. “Was he like this the whole trip up the mountain?” she asks, turning to Murphy.

With a quiet, tired sigh, Murphy stands and walks over to them with long, slow strides. “Nah,” he says, “he was worse.”

Bellamy makes it to his feet, cracking his stiff neck and letting the feeling roll back into his muscles. “Quests aren’t supposed to be _easy_,” he mutters, growing slightly annoyed at their comments.

“Yeah,” Raven agrees, “but you don’t have to make it even harder.”

He shoots her a glare, but he can’t stay mad at her for long, and instead, focuses his attention to the staircase and the upper balcony. There’s a singular door up there that he hadn’t noticed before, made of plain wood and very chipped away at the corners. Once, it looks like there was an ornate decoration on the door itself, but it has since faded away, lost forever to time. “The Fates are up there?” he asks.

Raven nods. “They said to enter whenever you’re ready.”

He feels very small all of a sudden. “Would you – would you _both_ come with me?”

“I would if I could,” Raven says.

At the very same instant, Murphy chimes in with, “I absolutely would _not_.”

Raven rolls her eyes, planting her back towards Murphy so she didn’t have to look at him. “_Anyways_, I really would if I could. They’re not actually that bad – I spent the past couple of days with them, and…they’re actually quite kind, when it comes down to it. But they said only you could come up, since you’re the only mortal. Luna, their leader, she’s – well, she’s amazing, honestly. You’ll absolutely be fine.”

Bellamy nods, expecting most of that answer. “But – you think they’re kind?”

Raven’s eyes have never been kinder. “I do.”

Still, though, Bellamy feels unsettled, and he’s beginning to realize there’s one other opinion that holds a surprising amount of weight in his mind. There’s someone else, he’s realizing, that he trusts. “Murphy,” he says, “you don’t like them, do you?”

Murphy shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on the heels of his feet, any previous façade of bravado long gone. “Look, nothing personal,” he says, “but I think you’re crazy for asking them for help. They’re terrifying.”

Bellamy noticeably falters. “They are?”

“Well,” Murphy amends, “they might just not like _me_ all that much. They’re pretty big on the whole ‘free will’ thing, and, well…” He gestures vaguely at himself.

“They don’t like gods, either,” Raven mutters, to which Murphy shrugs lazily, though he doesn’t appear to disagree with the sentiment.

Bellamy nods, cracking his neck again, and then squares his shoulders. “Right,” he says, “I guess there’s no more time to waste, then.”

“Um, I believe I _just_ explained that you do, actually, have lots of time,” Raven says, but he’s already walking forwards towards the staircase.

He places a hand on the banister for support, but then stops and turns back, looking at Raven and Murphy. “Thank you,” he says, and he hopes they know how much and how deeply he means it. “Thank you both. For everything.”

Raven smiles and waves him off, but Murphy – Murphy fixes him with the kind of look that he knows he’ll never, ever forget. It’s the kind of look that says he never thought he’d be thanked, for anything – the kind that says he’s never _been_ thanked, and he doesn’t know how to say what he wants to say in response, only that he feels very, very deeply about it.

It’s gone, though, just as quickly, and Murphy resolves in giving him a stiff nod. “You got it, hotshot,” he says, very softly, and very genuinely.

Bellamy turns, climbs the staircase, and enters the door at the very top. Sometimes, it really is that easy, if he lets it be.

* * *

The room he enters is, surprisingly, simple.

It’s of a completely different architectural design than the large foyer – that is, there really is no architectural design at all. It’s a simple square room, with gray walls and a gray tiled floor. In the center is a long wooden table, with one seat on either side. One of these seats is empty, while the seat across from it is taken by the central Fate, the one with the wild, untamed hair and sturdier, simpler clothing. Behind her and against the wall, to her left and to her right, were two other chairs, each taken by the other two Fates. All three of them looked the same as they had before.

“Bellamy Blake,” the center Fate says, smiling warmly, “please, have a seat.”

He isn’t sure if he wants to sit at all, but he figures it wouldn’t be a wise move to disobey a being older than time itself.

As he slowly sits in the chair, cringing as it squeaks, he notices the red string lying in the center of the table. It’s made of yarn, he realizes, and it’s long enough that it almost stretches from end to end on the table. He doesn’t ask, because it’s not his business, but his stomach turns uneasily for reasons he can’t figure out every time he looks at the string.

He expects one of the Fates to say something, but they don’t, so he takes it upon himself to fill the silence. “Um, thank you for seeing me,” he says. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. First, he tries to fold them on the table, but then he grows self-conscious and puts them down at his sides, but this makes him feel awkward.

When he speaks, the two Fates on either side react almost instantly. The one on the left – with the simpler black gown and dagger – raises in eyebrow in a pleasantly surprised way, while the one on the right, dressed all in white with the bow and arrow, groans and rolls her eyes.

The Fate sitting directly across from him chuckles softly. Her eyes are the warmest and kindest Bellamy thinks he’s ever seen, and just looking into them makes him feel more at peace. “Of course,” she says, “You climbed a mountain to see us, after all. My name is Luna. To your left is Anya, and to your right is Echo.”

“Hello,” he says, somewhat nervously.

“He’s got pleasant manners, despite a tragic backstory,” Anya says. She’s the one who had been giving him that look of surprise, though he’s not sure how to respond to that comment.

“Who cares about manners? We’re wasting time,” Echo replies, glaring at him.

Bellamy tries to swallow his nerves. It doesn’t quite work. “Um – what?”

Luna does that soft chuckle again. “We represent the past, present, and future,” she explains, “quite literally. Anya is the past, I am the present, and Echo is the future.”

“You mean – you control time that way?”

“In a way,” Luna says, tilting her head contemplatively. “Anya sees all that has been and all that makes up the universe. Echo sees all that could be and all that could be lost. I mediate between the two.”

It doesn’t make much sense to him, but he knows he’s speaking to the three most powerful beings this world has ever seen, so he doesn’t question it further. The more he thinks about it, the less sure he is that any of them actually have a corporeal form, and this whole thing isn’t just a show they’ve put on so his mortal eyes can comprehend it. It’s magic, he thinks, all of this is – but strangely, he’s not angry about it. He’s seen enough magic over the past few days to last several of his lifetimes, but he thinks he’s starting to understand the point of it.

Not, of course, that he’d _ever_ admit that to Octavia.

“So you know everything about me,” he guesses, “and why I’m here?”

Luna nods, sagely. “We have your string.”

Hesitantly, he glances down at the string again, and he begins to realize why looking at it causes him such discomfort. “My string?”

She reaches forwards, running a finger along the yarn. As she does so, a chill rises up his spine, and it’s as if the temperature of the room drops thirty degrees. “This is your life,” she says, “and all that could be of it.”

It’s funny that he thought he could understand any of this. “My life is string?”

“Everyone’s is,” Luna says. The entire exchange, her voice remains flat and calm. “And once we cut it – it’s over.”

Silence reigns for several seconds. “You’re not going to do that, though, are you?”

In the background, Echo scoffs, but Luna quiets her. “No,” she promises. “Not yet, anyways. But all strings must be cut one day.”

He looks back down at the string, notices how one end is completely frayed while the other is tightly compacted together. It doesn’t make any sense to him, and this constant truth is starting to get on his nerves. “Touch it, if you like,” Luna says, seemingly noticing his feelings, “and you’ll understand.”

It feels wrong, like it’s not his place to do so, but the curiosity is burning. Slowly, he places his index finger on the string, and as soon as it makes contact –

_Bellamy’s mother is lying on her deathbed, her face gaunt and pale under the dying sunlight. “Take care of your sister,” are the last words she ever says, and Bellamy swears on the moon that he will. He doesn’t let go of her hand for a long time._

_He’s older, now, and he’s waking up one morning to find his home far too quiet. Lying on top of Octavia’s bed is a handwritten note, only telling him that she’s sorry she had to leave like this but she’s found true love and thanks, for everything, but he’s on his own now. He sinks to his knees and he cries._

_Once upon a time, he loved a boy in the village, Atom. He’s pretty sure the feeling is mutual but Atom married another girl, telling Bellamy that King Kane was not as understanding as their own hearts were, and he best find someone to settle down with and forget this whole thing ever happened. Bellamy thinks he’ll never find love but maybe, maybe that’s the way of the world. _

_He’s with Clarke, he’s with Raven, he’s with anyone who has ever brought a smile to his face – _

_He’s hanging off a cliff, staring awe-struck into Murphy’s wide, pleading eyes, and he thinks that maybe he’s found something else here that he didn’t realize was missing – _

Bellamy rips his finger away from the string, holding his hand close to his chest. The images are still flashing in his mind, but they begin to fade away, returning to their previous state as just plain, old memories. When he catches his breath, he stares up at Luna in wonder. “Is that what you see – when you hold it?”

“Yes.”

“I – _wow_. And you have one for everybody?”

“We do.”

“_Wow_.”

Echo groans again, shattering the moment. “Tick, tock, mortal! I told you that we’re wasting time!”

He’s recovered slightly, so he nods and straightens up in his chair. “If you’ve all seen that,” he says, “then you know why I’m here.” It’s slightly odd and discerning, knowing that these three Fates had seen every memory that ever meant anything to him. They knew him in and out, probably knew him better than he knows himself, and all because they – what? Because they had some string?

It’s hilarious, and he’d laugh, if he isn’t afraid that they’ll slice right through his string the second he upsets them.

“We do know,” Luna says, “but we’d like you to say it.”

He lets out a long breath. “I want to bring my wife, Clarke Griffin, back from the dead.”

Luna taps her fingers on the table, thinking. “Can I ask you why?”

“Um,” he says, at first, not expecting that question at all. “Well – she’s my wife.”

“You don’t love her, though,” Anya chimes in.

Bellamy’s eyes narrow, feeling like he’s being accused of something that’s definitely true. “Of course I love her.”

Anya nods, raising a hand. “Allow me to rephrase. You don’t love her in the way that most husbands love their wives.”

He searches, deep inside himself, and knows it to be true. “No,” he says, “I don’t. But she’s still important to me.”

“You’ve lost people before, and you will continue to do so,” Anya says, her tone highly critical. “Like – your mother. You didn’t go on a quest to bring her back after her string was cut.”

“No,” he says. His voice is getting low with anger. “I had Octavia to look after.”

“And then you didn’t,” Echo chimes in, “and still, nothing. Not for your mother, and not for her.”

“That’s not–”

“But for Clarke, a woman you do not love, you’re willing to ask us for help in this matter?”

He feels a deep, burning shame grow within his chest, and it makes him even angrier. “Clarke would do the same for me.”

“Would she?” Echo asks.

“_Yes_,” he snaps, “because all either of us have left is each other.”

“I see,” she says. “Let’s say, then, you do retrieve her soul from the Underworld. What then? You continue on in a loveless marriage? You forsake your own happiness for – what? Stability?”

“I _do_ love her–”

“Semantics. The question remains the same.”

Bellamy lets out a breath between clenched teeth. “A life with her is better than a life alone.”

Echo leans back in her seat, a smirk on her face. “And there it is. You’re afraid of being alone, and that is why you are on this quest.”

He narrows his eyes defensively. “That’s not true!”

“No? Are you calling me, the sole being in charge of your very future, a liar?”

Bellamy fumes, but his self-control forces his silence.

Luna sighs. The entire exchange, she’s been looking down at his string, looking lost in very deep thought. Then, suddenly, she turns and glances back at Anya and Echo. The three of them appear to engage in silent communication between them, glancing back and forth and continuously making and then breaking eye contact. Finally, she turns back around and the other two Fates lean back.

“Bellamy,” Luna says, “we’ve made our decision.”

He’s got a bad feeling about what’s about to come. “I can explain more,” he says, in a futile attempt to defend his position that even _he_ is losing faith in.

“No need,” she says, “we will help you – if you complete a task for us.”

A quest within a quest isn’t too bad, he reasons – all the great heroes have at least a few diversions to conquer. “Okay,” he agrees, “what do you want me to do?”

“We will grant you three wishes, as promised,” she says, “if you bring us a stalk of aconite.”

“Aconite?” he repeats, the name very familiar. “Wait – Wolf’s Bane? The plant?”

“Yes,” Luna affirms.

Bellamy isn’t sure what he’s missing, but he knows it’s something big. “But that’s – some of it grows outside my village, that’s not rare or anything?”

Luna just smiles. “We require pure Wolf’s Bane, fresh from Hell Hound’s production.”

Bellamy’s mouth drops open. Sure, he’s heard of the myth – the first time a Hell Hound was brought into the land of the living, Wolf’s Bane was created from a drop of its spittle hitting the ground. “You’re not serious,” he says before he can stop himself.

“We assure you, we are,” Luna says. “You will have to go to the Underworld to retrieve it.”

“But – no, that doesn’t make sense. If I could just go to the Underworld, I’d be able to get Clarke back without having to do all this!”

Echo scoffs, for what seems like the millionth time. “Boy, bringing back and a plant and a mortal soul are two very, very different things.”

Bellamy sighs, slowly resigning himself to this reality. “Fine,” he snaps, “but how am I supposed to get there? And where am I supposed to find a Hell Hound that _won’t_ kill me on sight?”

“Your companion, J–”

“Don’t say his name,” Bellamy says, more on reflex than anything.

Luna nods, regretfully. “Of course. My apologies. _Murphy_ will be able to open the door. There’s a passage located in the cavern in which the river nymph, Emori, is held.”

Bellamy’s eyes widen. “There is?”

“Yes. There are many passages in there, all of Hecate’s creation – however, she cannot stop us from using them from time to time.”

He nods, contemplative. “Murphy mentioned that I didn’t have to climb the mountain to earn an audience with you,” he says, “is that true?”

Anya and Echo exchange a look, and Luna looks sympathetic. “It is true. There is a passage way connecting the base of the mountain to Emori’s cavern, and there is another passage from there that leads to the very top. I very much doubt that even Murphy knows of their existence.”

“Oh,” Bellamy sighs, “I was hoping it wasn’t true.”

“Your friend Raven, the demigod, arrived here safely and told us about your deal with Hecate,” Luna says, somewhat hesitantly. It’s the first time she’s dropped the calm tone of voice. “It is…a delicate situation.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees, “I’m starting to get that sense.”

“I am sorry you are in this situation, Bellamy,” she says, and he nods because it’s the polite thing to do, but her words remind him all too much of Emori’s, and he thinks he’s starting to get a little annoyed at otherworldly beings pitying him. Once, just once, he wishes that one of them would just _understand_, or at least try to.

“Do you agree to the terms, or not?” Echo says, rolling her eyes at the sentimentality of the moment.

Somehow, from somewhere, Bellamy rustles up some nerve. “You know,” he says, looking directly at Luna, “you clearly don’t like Hecate, but you sound a lot like her.”

Both Anya and Echo appear offended, but Luna only looks bemused. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” he says, “asking me to agree to _terms_. You’re one of the most powerful beings in the universe – surely you know if I’m being truthful?”

Luna’s smile is so wide that he’s taken aback. “You have a strong will, Bellamy,” she says, “but I suppose you’ll have to take my word for it in this case, won’t you?”

He sighs, but then stretches out his hand. Still amused, Luna grasps it and shakes tightly. “Alright,” she says, “Rest tonight, and then tomorrow, we’ll open the passage for you and your companions.”

“That’s alright,” he says, “we can leave now.”

“Raven told me a lot of things,” Luna says, “and your stubbornness was one of them. Do not think we’ve forgotten what happened earlier. As Murphy put it – mortals tend to be…_fragile_.”

He rolls his eyes, but at this point he has to accept that there might be some truth there. “Fine,” he says, “one night.”

Luna nods, standing, gesturing for him to leave the room first. He rises slowly and stiffly, but he does manage to rise and exit through the chipped wooden door. The Fates follow as he slowly descends the staircase. Back in the foyer, Raven and Murphy are sitting next to each other in silence with their backs resting on the wall, but they stand when the four of them come down the stairs. Bellamy notices Murphy help Raven brace and steady herself as she stands, and he isn’t sure why, but it brings a small smile to his face.

“How’d it go?” Raven asks him quietly as he makes his way over to her. He gives her a quick thumbs-up before the Fates join them, and he’s reluctant to say more.

“As we told Bellamy,” Luna says, “you may all rest here tonight, and in the morning, your quest will resume.” She waves a hand, and off to their left, a doorway appears where there had previously only been a solid wall.

“Show-off,” Murphy whispers beside him, and Bellamy has to struggle to stifle a laugh.

Unperturbed, Luna carries on. “Bellamy and Murphy, you two would like to stay in a room together, yes?”

Murphy just cocks an eyebrow, while Bellamy glances back and forth between the two in confusion. “Uh – yeah, that’s fine,” he agrees maybe too quickly, not sure what exactly he’s missing in this exchange.

“Raven, I assume the same arrangement is fine?” she says.

Raven laughs. “You can just say that I’m staying in your room, you know.”

If Bellamy didn’t know any better, he’d say a blush crept onto Luna’s cheeks. “I – yes. Of course. Yes.”

Bellamy looks over at Raven, raising an eyebrow questioningly. She just sticks out her tongue at him. It’s all the confirmation he needed.

They disperse for the night, then, Bellamy and Murphy entering the newly-appeared room Luna had given them. It’s quite simple, lacking any real decoration, but – “There’s only one bed,” Bellamy says, glancing at the large mattress standing all by itself in the center of the room.

“Is that a problem?” Murphy asks.

“I – no. No. Is it for, um, for you?”

“Nope,” Murphy says, kicking off his shoes and throwing himself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Plenty of room.”

Laughing, Bellamy does the same. It’s pure bliss as he sinks into the mattress. Every single one of his aching muscles seems to thank him as he lets the mattress envelop him in comfort. “This _is_ nice,” he says, suddenly overcome with exhaustion.

Neither of them says anything for a while, but surprisingly, Murphy breaks the silence first. “You know, I really am impressed that you’ve made it this far.”

“Ha. Yeah, thanks.”

“No, I mean it,” Murphy says, rolling over onto his side to face him. Bellamy does the same. The bed is fairly large, but they’re close enough to touch easily. Neither of them seem to mind. “When we started this thing, I thought – I thought you weren’t serious about it. So many mortals have tried this with Hecate, and so many have failed, or died, or given up within an hour. But you didn’t. You stuck with it.”

“I didn’t,” Bellamy repeats. “This quest means everything to me. I have to finish it.”

“I understand,” Murphy says, and in the moment, it doesn’t really mean anything. In the moment, it’s nothing, but in the long run, it’s absolutely everything.

“And you didn’t – take advantage,” he continues, “of me, and my situation. I don’t know what the rest of this quest will look like, but – if it were my choice, I’d follow you, Bellamy.”

Bellamy smiles, warmly. He feels at peace, right now, in this instant with Murphy at his side. He’d say more – there’s so much more that he thinks he _wants_ to say – but exhaustion hits him again, hard, and he feels his eyes start to slip shut. _Too soon_, he wants to tell himself. _Don’t ruin this moment_ – but he knows it’s too late.

His eyes close, and he starts to lose himself in the tranquility and the security of the moment. Every muscle and bone in his body feels _warm_, a feeling he’d almost forgotten, it had been so long. “Murphy,” he whispers, so many more words on the tip of his tongue, but in the next second they all fly out of his mind and he just lets out a soft sigh of contentment. He pulls himself further into the bed, curling tightly both into himself and towards Murphy.

He feels the bed dip slightly as Murphy leaves. Involuntarily, he whines softly at the sudden absence, but the feeling of safety is restored as he vaguely feels a blanket being draped over his frame. “It’s okay, hotshot,” Murphy says, “I’ve still got you.”

The last thing Bellamy hears before sleep overtakes him is Murphy’s soft sigh, and the feeling of the bed dipping again as he lies back down. “I’d follow you anywhere,” he says. Bellamy thinks he’d really like to respond to that statement, thinks that there’s so many feelings he has towards Murphy and their whole situation that he doesn’t have the words to describe, but sleep takes hold of him and he’s gone.

That night, he doesn’t dream of Clarke, and he doesn’t dream of her screams. He only dreams of warmth, and his spirit feels at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH sorry this chapter is so much shorter and not as action-packed as the previous one but the exposition is, regrettably, necessary. hopefully the fates were cool! their characterization was next to impossible to do so i just made their characters seem very unique so i do apologize if they seem ooc or off from canon? it's because they definitely are. anyways. thanks to everyone for leaving nice comments and the kudos and just reading this at all it's my Child In Fic Form so. it means a lot. biggest thanks to charlie and elle and special special special shout out to elle for helping come up with the setting for this chapter, u da best <3
> 
> please feel free to talk to me on twitter @iexasheart, that's where i spend most of my time. have a wonderful day thank you again for reading <3


	5. the despondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> despondence - a feeling of discouragement, sadness, and depression; being without hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> link to my murphamy playlist, which i listen to while writing this --> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3h69EmvBlnqPX3vtriWJbr?si=ru551BOdRR6IKweOdn2b6A

There’s no such thing as _morning_, not here, but when Bellamy wakes, he’s sure it can’t be very early. His eyes open slowly. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t immediately rush to get moving – no, he takes a moment to just exist, to breathe in the safety and security that’s still got a hold over him.

Eventually, he turns just slightly, eyes falling on Murphy’s still, sleeping form. He’s curled into himself more than he’s curled into the bed or the blankets, but he, too, looks peaceful. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he sleeps soundly. Bellamy decides that he shouldn’t wake him, not until he has to.

It’s odd, and he can’t quite explain it, but staring at Murphy’s peaceful form gives Bellamy an incomprehensible urge to stay there and lay in bed with him all day. It would feel nice, he thinks, to indulge in it. Maybe one day. Maybe one day, in the distant future, he’ll invite Murphy back to his home, and they’ll recreate this moment and this feeling there, where the sun can shine through the windows and light up their lives with a distinct, human warmth.

(It’s odd, and he won’t admit it to himself until much, much later, but he doesn’t picture Clarke in this fantasy).

Gingerly, he sits up, careful not to move or dip the bed too much. Once he’s satisfied that Murphy hasn’t stirred, he swings his legs off the bed and his feet hit the floor softly. He’s about to get up and get moving – though where, he isn’t sure – when there’s a soft knock on the door.

_It’s probably Luna_, he thinks, sighing. Bellamy definitely isn’t ready to face Luna, but he also isn’t ready to face what happens if he doesn’t answer the door and let her in. He does, though, take a moment to cast one last glance at Murphy. His peaceful appearance brings the smile back to Bellamy’s face, and with that, he stands carefully and opens the door slowly, careful not to make any noise.

Raven’s standing on the other side, a covered basket in her hands, and a lazy ponytail in her hair. She’s still wearing her massive red jacket, draped over her shoulders in an oddly comforting way. Bellamy’s known that jacket as long as he’s known Raven – she almost never takes it off. It makes him feel safe. More than that, maybe, it reminds him of home.

“Morning!” she says, but he quickly presses a finger to his lips and then steps out the door, much to her surprise. Gently, Bellamy _clicks_ the door shut behind him, and then turns his full attention to her. From the look on her face, he knows that she knows exactly why he did so.

“Sorry,” he says, “he’s just–”

“Don’t worry, Bell,” she says, “I get it.” The twinkle in her eye both fills him with warmth and embarrassment. He decides to go with the latter.

“I’m sure you do,” he says. “How was _Luna_?”

Raven’s cheeks flush bright red almost immediately. He’s happy for her – truly, he is – but it still feels somewhat satisfying.

As she always does, though, Raven regains her composure almost instantly, thrusting the basket towards him. It’s a picnic basket, he realizes, and as he removes the delicate cover, he sees it’s full of bread, cheese, fruit, and other delicacies he hasn’t had in a long while. “Here,” she says, “Luna told me to give this to you.”

Bellamy’s eyes go wide as he surveys the wide selections. “This – This is too much!”

“She’s literally the most powerful being in the universe. It’s really not.” Raven replies, dryly. Her sarcasm reminds him of Murphy, which brings back a small smile to his lips.

“Right,” he says, “well, let’s eat, then.”

He’s hesitant to go too far away from the room where he left Murphy, so they sit next to each other on the floor of the giant foyer, across from the doorway, their backs against the wall. It really does start to feel like an actual picnic, even if there were no blades of grass anywhere close to them.

They sit in silence for a while, but Bellamy can tell Raven’s got something on her mind. He knows her well enough not to ask, though, so he sits and eats and waits, until finally she speaks. “So, about your quest,” she says, and then goes silent again.

“Yeah, I’m going to the Underworld, apparently,” he says, laughing slightly. It hasn’t truly sunken in yet that he, a living mortal, would step foot in the land of the dead.

Raven purses her lips. Finally, she looks him directly in the eye, all pretenses dropped. “I can’t go with you,” she says, very quickly without pause, so that all the words are jammed together.

Bellamy gives her a warm smile. “I know.”

“You – You do?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t expect you to, Raven. You’ve already done more than anyone else would have for me.” It’s not a lie – he really _did_ know, though he didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.

“It’s just – with Luna, I – _ugh_. I hate doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Talking about how I _feel_!” She says it with such bitterness and malice that it makes Bellamy laugh, which only deepens her glare.

When he’s got some semblance of composure, Bellamy turns to face her fully and places a hand on her good leg, squeezing in reassurance. “Look,” he says, “Luna clearly makes you happy. I can see it. I don’t know what happened while Murphy and I were climbing the mountain, but…if she makes you happy, then you should stay.”

Raven’s eyes soften and crinkle, and for a moment, she looks near tears. “Thank you, Bell,” she says, so softly he almost misses it.

“Of course.”

“But,” she continues, “I can’t.”

This time, he doesn’t know what she’s going to say. “You can’t? Can’t what?”

“Stay.”

“Well – why not?”

Her gaze drops to the floor and she lets out a long, frustrated sigh. “The gods don’t trust me. They don’t _like_ demigods, but while I live on Olympus with them, they can at least keep tabs on me.”

Bellamy nods slowly as he begins to follow her. “But if you aren’t living there…”

“They won’t allow it,” she finishes. “They’ll find a way to – I don’t know, kill me, I guess. Finish what they started all those years ago.”

“But then – if you can’t leave Olympus, how are you here?”

“I told you the gods have a soft spot for you. They think you’re entertaining,” she says, “so, my father – and the rest of them, which is what matters – gave me permission to accompany and help you. As long as you’re on your quest, I’m free help you however.”

He smiles, somewhat bitterly. “Wow. That’s _so_ nice of them to do.”

“Yeah, they love their charity work.” She studies her nails, mind clearly running a thousand miles an hour. “So I guess – what I’m saying is – I _need_ to come with you. Because otherwise, they’ll know that I’m disobeying them.”

He smiles widely, then, realization dawning. “Oh, Raven,” he says, “why didn’t you just say so?”

“I – what?”

Bellamy reaches forwards, grasping her hand in his. “Raven Reyes,” he says, “it would _really_ help my quest if you stayed here with the Fates. And – gathered information for me. Yeah. Find out everything you can about what they know. Here. For as long as it takes.”

Raven’s breath grows shaky. She grasps his hand tightly, her other free hand trembling. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Bellamy…” She leans forwards, then, and throws her arms around him in a tight embrace which he’s quick to return. Now, she really is crying, but she’s also laughing, and that’s what warms his heart.

It’s like this that Murphy finds them as he comes through the doorway into the foyer. They break away as they hear him enter, Raven quickly wiping away the remnants of any tears. Bellamy gives him a warm smile as their eyes meet, before he even really thinks about it. Murphy doesn’t offer anything back, but he does hold eye contact for a couple seconds longer than necessary. His sweeping gaze takes in the foyer, the food, but most of all, the two of them. “I’m interrupting something, then,” he finally says.

“Not at all,” Bellamy replies, quickly, gesturing for him to take a seat next to him.

“Good, because I wouldn’t have cared, anyways.” He approaches them and takes the offered spot, pointedly ignoring Bellamy’s second offered smile, instead giving Raven a nod. “Reyes.”

“Murphy.”

Bellamy narrows his eyes, noticing the way that Murphy is now refusing to even look directly at him, let alone speak, but he doesn’t get a chance to point this out. Above them, on the overlooking balcony, the door opens and Luna steps out. He _does_ notice the tension instantly leaving Raven’s body when she sees Luna approach, but he doesn’t say anything. He figures she’s been through enough emotional labour for the day.

“You are all rested, then?” Luna says. Despite the informal setting, she still carries her body with a poise and grace that Bellamy doubts she can go a second without.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, realizing that he’s the only one in the room that requires such a human thing as _rest_. “Thank you. Truly.”

Luna nods warmly. “Of course. So few mortals make it up to see us. Believe it or not, we _want_ you to succeed.”

He doesn’t know how to take this information, so he just nods stiffly and awkwardly, which only seems to amuse Luna. Thankfully, she turns her attention away from him. “Raven,” she says, “have you thought about what we discussed?”

“Yes,” Raven says, and she starts to stand, prompting Bellamy and Murphy to do the same. She braces herself against the wall as she forces her bad leg to do what she wants it to do. Instinctually, Bellamy reaches out to offer to steady her as he’s done so many times, but Luna beats him to it. She offers her arm, and Raven quickly takes it, gaining her balance. When she’s standing, she doesn’t let go of Luna’s arm. “I’m staying.”

“You are?” Luna’s voice grows so hopeful, that in this moment she doesn’t seem to be anything but mortal.

“Yeah,” Raven says. She seems overcome by emotion, in a way that Bellamy’s never, ever seen.

Luna reaches out, her right hand gently caressing Raven’s cheek. Their eyes are locked in each other’s, and for a second, they stand there just like that, until Luna leans down and kisses her. They break away after only a second, both waiting for confirmation, and when they’ve found it Raven’s hands find a place on Luna’s face and she pulls her down, kissing her once again.

Bellamy finds himself on one side of them, Murphy on the other. The two of them stand there in silence, neither daring to rob the two of them of this moment. Hesitantly, Bellamy looks at Murphy, but the god is very obviously avoiding his gaze. He continues to stare, waiting for him to break his resolve and just _look_ at him, but – nothing.

It makes Bellamy’s heart sink, and he isn’t really sure why.

Finally, Raven and Luna break apart, but probably not for long, so Bellamy interjects when he can. “Uh, so I guess we – _I_ should get going, then.”

Raven turns to hug him once again. “Thank you,” she whispers in his ear.

“No,” he replies, “thank _you_.”

They break apart, and Raven reaches out a hand towards Murphy, which he takes and shakes with an amused expression. “You take care of him, okay?” she says, sternly, holding his grip. “If you hurt him, then _I_ hurt _you_.”

“Mortals are fragile, I know,” Murphy says.

“I’m serious.”

Murphy rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t look annoyed. “_Alright_.”

Luna clasps her hands together, looking over the two of them. “You have your supplies with you?”

Murphy’s got the bag of supplies next to him, and he nods. Luna gives a quick snap of her fingers, and then nods, satisfied. “I’ve replenished them for you,” she says. “It should be more than enough to see you through this journey.”

“Thank you,” Bellamy says.

She nods. “Now, remember – you are to bring me back _fresh_ aconite from the Underworld. Wolf’s Bane, as you mortals call it. There is a passageway in the cavern where the river nymph, Emori, is held. Murphy, you will be able to open it with any amount of magic. It is on the easternmost surface. You will feel it if you look.”

Murphy raises a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Um – sure.”

“Where in the Underworld should we go?” Bellamy asks.

“Yes,” Murphy chimes in, dry as ever, “this may come as a shock to you, but we’ve never _been_ there.”

“Well – speak for yourself,” Bellamy mutters, remembering his first, brief death, where he’d condemned himself to living on the shore of the river forever. It had all seemed so much simpler then.

Luna laughs, amused. It’s odd, he thinks, how even the simplest things can cause her to laugh. Bellamy guesses he’d get pretty bored, too, if he was an immortal, all-powerful deity. “When you get there,” she says, “look for Lexa. And – take these.”

She opens her palm, and where there was once nothing are now two silver coins. “Payment,” she says. As he takes one of the coins and pockets it, he feels embarrassed to realize that he forgot about the whole payment thing.

He doesn’t remember much from his brief trip to the Underworld, when he’d died in the flowerbed and Niylah had resurrected him. He remembers finding himself on a dark, rocky shore. He remembers Charon, the ferryman, a purely skeletal figure holding out a hand for a coin. He remembers feeling absolutely nothing at all. Most of all, he remembers gazing over the stormy river and seeing the _true_ Underworld on the other side. Now, in the present, he shivers just thinking about it.

Luna turns, gesturing for them to follow her. Raven’s hand stays clasped in hers, the two of them walking across the foyer and down the hall. Bellamy looks at Murphy, who watches them go but doesn’t make an attempt to follow. “You ready to go?” he says.

“Doesn’t matter,” Murphy replies. “I go where you go, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but – c’mon. We’re about to go to the _Underworld_ while we’re not dead! Are you telling me you’re not the least bit excited to do that?” Bellamy’s definitely not excited. At this point, it’s more about getting some kind of reaction out of Murphy.

“No.”

“Oh, Murphy, where’s your sense of adventure? We’re about to be _pioneers_.”

“I don’t want to be a pioneer. Pioneers end up dead.”

Bellamy purses his lips. “You trust me?”

Murphy lets out an angry breath. “Stop pushing this, okay? Let’s go. You take the lead – it’s _your_ quest. Don’t forget I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

Despite what he said, Murphy stomps off after Raven and Luna. Bellamy follows quickly, but all he can think about is how Murphy didn’t say _no_.

* * *

At the corner of the room, Luna’s opened a door. It looks exactly the same as the others, but through it Bellamy can see only darkness. “This will take you to Emori’s cave,” Luna says. “From there, the rest is up to you.”

“Right,” Bellamy says, squaring his shoulders. “Thank you. We’ll be back.”

“Oh, we’ll be _something_,” Murphy mutters. He chooses to ignore this comment.

“Good luck,” Raven says, and he nods.

“I know you’ll be okay here,” he says, “but – still. Be okay, alright? I can’t worry about you, too.”

Raven chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“She will be,” Luna promises. “I know what you did for her, Bellamy. Thank you for that.”

He nods, then sighs. “There’s nothing that you can do?” he says. “You know – you’re more powerful than the gods, aren’t you?”

“Than all of them combined,” Luna agrees, “but I am restricted. I cannot interfere unless –”

“Unless a mortal makes some wishes,” he finishes. “Right. Yeah. Sounds like a broken system to me.”

“And you’re just realizing this now?” Murphy comments. This, too, he chooses to ignore.

Luna gives them both an encouraging smile. “I hope to see you both safely return, and soon.”

Bellamy nods, smiles, and casts one last cursory glance at Murphy. When he looks at him, he doesn’t see warmness, or softness, or any of the emotions he did last night, and he begins to wonder if he made the whole thing up in a dream-induced haze. Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore. It can’t.

He enters the tunnel, and Murphy follows, close behind. Bellamy supposes that that’s all that really matters, in the end.

* * *

It’s almost comforting when he finds himself in the familiarity of the cave. It’s just as it was when they left it – though, he supposes this shouldn’t be a surprise. Emori emerges from underneath the water, her hair wet and slicked back, still somehow falling elegantly around her shoulders. “Bellamy!” she exclaims when she sees him. “You survived, then?”

“Somehow,” he says, quickly approaching to lean down and hug her. He doesn’t mind the water that drips onto his clothes – it’s nice enough to just to lean into the embrace.

Behind him, Murphy enters the cave silently. As he does, the passageway that they came through shines, shakes every so slightly, and then disappears as the cave wall solidifies. He’ll never get over seeing things like that in person and having them be such a normal part of life.

He smiles at Murphy, happy to be safe and secure for just a moment, back in familiarity. When he turns around, though, the blood in his veins freezes and he gasps, stepping back involuntarily.

Emori’s standing straight up, still somewhat submerged in the water, but her muscles are tense and stiff. She’s looking right at Murphy, who’s back is pressed against the cave wall, clearly in shock. Her eyes have completely clouded over. At this point, he’s seen it too many times, but each time only feels worse than the last.

Several seconds pass of silence. Bellamy’s too afraid to even breathe the wrong way. Chillingly, then, Emori begins to move. Her head tilts to the side, slowly, but her clouded gaze stays focused on Murphy. She raises her hand out of the water. Clutched in its grip is a simple, silver knife.

It’s not hard to piece it together. “Hecate’s been here,” Bellamy whispers, taking another step back from the edge of the water. "Hecate did something to her."

“We need to leave,” Murphy says, quickly. He keeps an eye on Emori, but then turns around, pressing his hands against the wall, drawing his fingers over the surface.

A chilling smile spreads over Emori’s lips. “Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. “We do.”

“Hecate has a message for her son,” Emori says, then. Her voice is harsh and robotic in its delivery. These words, he can tell, are not her own.

“Tell her I’m busy,” Murphy says. He’s still searching each part of the cave wall, but it’s going too slowly.

“She is reminding you that she knows everything,” Emori continues, undeterred. Bellamy wildly searches the cave, looking for something, _anything_ that could help, but his search turns up empty. He’s never felt more useless than this moment. “She is reminding you not to get too attached. She wants you to think about what happened last time.”

Murphy pauses, but recovers quickly, and continues his search of the wall. “Any luck?” Bellamy says.

“Clearly not!” Murphy snaps, which, well – fair enough.

“Most of all,” Emori says, “she wants you to remember that she can take anything away from you, whenever she wants to.”

Things seem to slow down as Emori turns jerkily, locking her absent gaze with Bellamy. A cruel, twisted smile spreads over her lips and she draws the knife up. Her arm moves awkwardly, stiffly, against the natural order. He watches as she tilts her head back and brings the blade closer, and closer, and closer to her neck, until it’s pressing against her throat and she begins to cut, a trickle of blood sliding down.

All he can hear is absent _hum_ in the background as the rest of the world falls away and he’s vaulting forwards, entering the water with a _splash_. He doesn’t hear Murphy yell. He doesn’t hear Emori laugh in a voice that does not belong to her. All he knows is the knife _clatters_ onto the surface of the rocks as he knocks her arm back, finding the hilt of the blade and tossing it far away, onto the surface.

Murphy’s staring at him, frozen and horrified, but there he stays. Bellamy expects it to be over. He stopped it – hasn’t he? Emori stays stiffly frozen right in front of him. Her eyes do not clear, and she fixes him with the cloudiest of looks. “Brave,” she says, her voice still wrong, still mechanical, “but we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

With speed and force he’s never seen, she lunges forwards, grabbing his shoulders and _pushing_. In the same instant, she kicks his knee out from under him and he goes down, under the water, until he’s completely submerged, and he doesn’t see or hear much of anything at all.

The sudden force of it and loss of air leaves him scrambling to regain his senses. Emori’s hands stay on his shoulders and she pushes him down, her hold so tight he can’t begin to escape. His air’s already gone. He thrashes, wildly, but the world stays muffled in his ears and all he can see when his eyes fly open is Emori’s twisted, terrifying smile as she stares down at him from above.

He doesn’t want to hurt her. He doesn’t know if he can. But – he’s a mortal, and if there’s one thing that mortals know how to do, it’s _fight_.

With a last burst of strength, he kicks upwards, slamming his boot into her chest. She stumbles backwards, surprised, falling back into the other end of the water. His head breaks the surface and he gasps, air flying back into his lungs so quickly that it burns. The sound of his desperate intake of oxygen is the loudest thing he’s ever heard.

_“Murphy!”_ he shouts, his throat raw and burning from the water he knows he’s swallowed. His vision is fuzzy, but he blinks the water out of his eyes and sees the god still testing different parts of the wall, no tunnel in sight.

“I’m _trying_!” Murphy cries, his hands moving along the rock face so quickly they’re nothing more than a blur.

He’s taken too long. Emori’s recovered. She throws herself at him wildly, a high-pitched scream shooting from her throat and echoing around the entire cave. Adrenaline forces his body to scramble backwards, but she reaches out and grabs his foot, pulling him and yanking him back to the center of the water.

This time, though, he’s ready. When she pulls him towards her, he throws all his momentum in her direction, barreling straight into her chest and pushing her back. She’s not expecting it and lets go of him in surprise, and that’s the only advantage he has. He still doesn’t want to – _can’t_ hurt her. Instead, he pushes her back, until they’re at the edge of the water. Bellamy takes hold of each of her wrists and pins her down in place, so her back is resting on the rock wall, and only her legs are submerged.

Of course, this turns out to be a mistake, because all she has to do is kick, and it’s his turn to stumble back. _“Murphy, _hurry up!” he yells. Emori takes a second to laugh at him, which is all he needs to turn around and dive out of the water. She lunges after him and tries to grab at his shirt, but misses, and he scrambles back until he’s at the very edge of the cave itself. Emori tries to follow, but while keeping her foot in the water, she can’t reach him.

He’s soaked and exhausted, but the adrenaline keeps him going. Emori begins to scream again, but he turns to Murphy, who’s pressing down on a certain section of the wall. Just as it looks like he’s about to give up, the wall crumbles underneath him, shimmering out of existence and revealing a tunnel.

The relief he feels is immeasurable. “Go!” he calls.

“Not until she’s okay!” Murphy yells back. It’s only now that Bellamy truly registers the fear in the god’s eyes.

Bellamy nods, but then remembers when he first entered the cave. Emori was fine, at her best, even, until – “No, you have to go!” he says. “I think you being here is doing this!”

“_What_?”

“Trust me! Go! I’ll be right behind you!”

Murphy’s face crumples, as if he’s about to burst into tears at any second, but then turns and runs through the passageway.

The effect is almost instantaneous. As soon as he’s out of view, it’s like someone cut the strings holding Emori up. She falls back, her head hanging, scream dying in her throat. Slowly, she slinks back, entering the water fully until just her head remained above. When she finally meets Bellamy’s gaze, her eyes are clear.

“Emori,” he says, relieved. “Are you okay?”

It’s then he notices the cut on her neck has dripped blood into the water, turning the crystalline blue a couple shades darker temporarily. Her eyes sparkle with pain and with tears. “Leave me alone,” she says.

“Emori, I–”

“Leave me _alone_!” And with that, she submerges herself underneath the water completely, leaving the cave completely still.

With a lack of better options, Bellamy does just that. Behind him, the passageway reappears, sealing Emori into her fate once more.

* * *

“Murphy?” Bellamy calls. The passageway feels still. He knows he came this way, though, so he puts one foot in front of the other, ignoring the _squish_ sounds his boots make with every step. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this waterlogged.

It doesn’t take long for him to emerge on the other side. It’s scary the way he’s used to this passageways, and when it shimmers and a solid wall takes the place of where there was once a door, he isn’t fazed. Instead, Bellamy takes a deep breath to steady himself, and then takes in his surroundings.

It’s all too familiar, while also being terrifyingly foreign. He’s standing on the same riverbank he was when he had died so long ago in the flowerbed. This time, though, the colours seem brighter, and the scenery feels more _real_. He supposes being alive has some perks.

The air is chillingly cold. He feels this too much as he tentatively steps forwards over the rocky bank. The gravel shifts uncomfortably easily under his feet. Sprawling out in front of him, he can see the river clearly. It’s dark – darker than any water should be. In fact, as he approaches, it appears almost black. It’s stormy, too, waves tossing and turning and seemingly random points in the water. There’s absolutely no wind or weather, and the only sound is the waves tossing and turning.

This time, he can see _them_, too. Along the riverbank, thousands of shadowy souls stretch out in every direction. Some of them moan from time to time, but most of them are silent, shadowy shapes of the humans they used to be. Mortals without payment, doomed to roam the banks of the Underworld for a hundred years before Charon would give them free access – or, that was how the stories go. Maybe they never got to see the other side. It’s unsettling to look at them too long. Somehow, he manages to tear his eyes away from their shifting forms.

Standing at the mouth of the river, next to the infamous boat, is Murphy and Charon, the ferryman.

He remembers Charon from his first trip down here, but he seems almost creepier this time around. His long, black cloak obscures most of his body, but what is visible seems to be only skeletal. Instead of a face, all he has is a skull, devoid of any eyes in the sockets, or any lips where the mouth should be. He moves fluidly, like a mortal does, but his limbs are only made of bones, as are his hands.

“There he is,” Murphy says, as Bellamy slowly approaches. “My companion. Are we good to go, then?”

Charon turns his skull-head towards Bellamy, and while he has no eyes to look at him with, it’s still disconcerting. “Your _companion_ is mortal,” he says, “and requires payment.”

“Oh, right,” Bellamy says, fishing the silver coin Luna had given him out of his pocket. Gently, he places it into Charon’s skeletal, outstretched hand.

If Charon could snarl, Bellamy’s pretty sure he would have. “_Great_,” the ferryman says. “All aboard, then.”

The boat is small and wooden, nothing more than an everyday rowboat, with only room enough for them and no more. After Charon, Murphy gets on first, and Bellamy reluctantly follows, his stomach turning at the way the boat rocks underneath their weight. Up close, the water of the river appears even darker and blacker, impossible to see through. As they get ready to go, some of the wandering souls of the bank approach closer, hoping to board the boat, too.

“We are about to cross the River Styx,” Charon announces, standing at the head of the boat, his back to them both, a long oar in his hand. “This is the river of nightmares, of despair, where no hope is found. Do not enter the river. Do not touch the river.”

With that, Charon begins to row, and the boat slowly drifts away from the bank. His warning feels unnecessary – after almost drowning in Emori’s cave, Bellamy would do anything to avoid ever going in the water again, let alone even touching a river made of literal nightmares. The moaning and yearning of the souls behind them grows louder, but drifts away into only background noise. Bellamy hates how easy it is for him to tune them out.

It appears that Charon’s done talking, so Bellamy seizes the opportunity instead. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Murphy snorts. “Sure. We’re pioneers, aren’t we?”

“Murphy.”

“What did I just say?”

“I know you’re not.”

“Then why did you _ask_, genius?”

Bellamy huffs in irritation. He – well, he doesn’t know how he feels about Murphy, exactly, but he knows he cares in some capacity. Still, though, he could be so frustrating. “It’s not your fault. You had nothing to do with it.”

“Sure, I did.”

“How could you say that?”

Murphy fixes him with the coldest stare he’s ever seen him produce. “It was my presence. Obviously Hecate was there, and used her _stupid_ brand to make Emori do that when I was there. It _is_ my fault.”

“Hey, no – you didn’t give her the brand, and you didn’t cast the spell!”

“It doesn’t matter, though, does it? I’m her _son_.”

“And? That doesn’t mean anything!”

“It means everything! Maybe not to _you_, but it means everything to _me_.”

Bellamy shakes his head, exasperated. “Exactly! It doesn’t mean anything to me!”

“Yeah, and not much does, does it?” Murphy cries. “You just rush in to everything and never think about the consequences, because you’re _hotshot Bellamy_, always trying to play the hero! You don’t know what it’s like, okay? It’s not your problem, so stop trying to fix it! Stop trying to fix _everything_ for _everyone_!”

It’s like someone’s slapped him in the face, and he shrinks back. “That’s not–”

“Whatever,” Murphy snaps, and then he twists around. “Why have we stopped?”

Bellamy hadn’t even noticed, but now that he pries his gaze away from Murphy, it’s true – the boat is sitting still in the water, somewhere around the halfway point of the river. The bank is too far back to see, but he can’t see the land in front of them on the other side, either. At the head of the boat, Charon stands still, the oar out of the water and at his side.

“Bellamy,” Charon repeats, “you’re _Bellamy_.”

“Um – yeah?”

Charon turns around, then, his posture menacing. Wind sweeps through the air out of nowhere, billowing his cloak back behind him. “I never thought that this would happen,” he says.

Murphy stands, confrontational. “What are you talking about? We paid you to keep rowing, so _keep rowing_!”

Charon takes a step forwards, towards Bellamy, but Murphy steps in front of him just as quickly. The boat rocks uncomfortably under the shift in weight. “I am sorry,” Charon says, “but Bellamy is not allowed to pass.”

“Why?” Murphy snaps.

“I have strict orders from the Commander herself,” Charon says. His voice is quiet, timid, yet so chilling Bellamy begins to shiver. It hasn’t felt real, this whole time, that he’s in the Underworld, the land of the freaking dead, until this moment, as a purely skeletal man stares him down in the middle of a river made of nightmares.

“I don’t care,” Murphy retorts. “I’m Hecate’s son. I’m every much of a god as the _Commander_, so I say you let us pass.”

“You can pass all you want,” Charon says, “but this is the end of the road for him.”

Murphy takes another step forward, firmly placing himself between Bellamy and Charon. Everything’s happening far too quickly for Bellamy to process, anyways, and he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do.

“Do not make me do this the hard way.”

“_Try_ me,” Murphy hisses.

“Okay,” Charon says. Suddenly, he _pushes_, so hard that Bellamy can hear the force behind it. The strike is so hard and so fast that Murphy flies back, his foot hooking over the side of the boat and his body flying backwards, over the side. He hits the water with a splash, and then just as quickly, the air is still once more.

“_No_,” Bellamy gasps, running to the side of the boat, crouching over to look at the water. He can’t see anything through the inky darkness. Seconds tick by, but there is no movement, and Murphy does not resurface.

He whips around and stands, facing Charon directly. All fear is gone, replaced only by anger. “What did you _do_?”

“He made me do it the hard way,” is all Charon replies. “Now, sit. I’ll row you back to the shore, and you can leave this place for good.”

Charon’s warning of _don’t touch the water_ is ringing in his ears, but the choice is easy. If he thinks about it, there’s no choice to make here at all. “No,” he says. “You can tell the _Commander_, whoever that is, that I _will_ find a way to pass. You can tell her that she should be expecting me. You got that?”

Charon doesn’t move or react in any way, but it doesn’t matter. Bellamy turns, and with one swift motion, dives into the pitch-black depths of the River Styx.

* * *

It hits him instantly.

The first thing he notices is that he can breathe just fine, but with every breath, a soul-crushing despair sinks into his skin. It’s as if the tendrils of melancholy itself are gripping onto him, dragging him down into their lair, erasing even the memory of joy or happiness from his being. But that’s not right. Is it? Has his life really been this miserable?

_Yes_, something whispers in his ear, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like his own. It’s all too easy to believe it. _Life is miserable. You’re miserable, aren’t you?_

He feels _heavy_. Bellamy’s never felt a weight like this. He feels like he himself is the weight pressing down on his chest, overloading his system with misery up until the point he doesn’t feel much of anything at all. It’s hopeless. He’s hopeless. He didn’t even feel this way after –

_Clarke_. What a waste of time this whole thing was, anyways. It’s not as if she loved him. He’s sure, now, that she didn’t even like him. She wouldn’t have done this for him. He’s hopeless. In the distance, he can hear her scream, and she won’t stop.

Something wraps around his ankle. When he looks down, he sees a menacing field of flowers underneath him, curling their roots around him and aching to bury him once more. He should have just stayed in that field of flowers, because then at least his grave would be beautiful, unlike everything else in his life.

_Ugly. It’s all horrible. They all think you’re horrible_.

He looks to his right, and sees Octavia, but she’s snarling at him, running away into the arms of – well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? She’s happier without him. She doesn’t need him. He tried to hard to provide and care for her, and she was so quick to leave him in the dust.

_She doesn’t love you. She never did. She couldn’t wait to get rid of you_.

On his left, he sees Atom, his lost first love. He, too, is laughing at him, turning his back to him as he walks down his wedding aisle, hand intertwined with a beautiful girl. They never had anything real. They couldn’t have.

_He used you. You didn’t make him happy. If he felt anything for you, he would have loved you back, wouldn’t he have?_

Bellamy looks up, feels the rocky cliff dig into his skin. His fingers are curled around the edge, and he wants nothing more to be able to let go and plummet. He remembers, in that moment, how he was so resigned to die, so resigned to letting go, to finally giving it all up. And there’s Murphy, leaning over the side, tears in his eyes, because –

_Wait!_

There’s Murphy.

_Murphy!_

There’s Murphy, answering the door and inviting him into the cabin. There’s Murphy, fighting to straighten out his billowing cape, somehow looking ethereal through the whole thing. There’s Murphy, illuminated by the fireside, spilling secrets of his heart that he’d never told another soul. He’s catching Bellamy when he falls, he’s curling up next to him in the bed, he’s laughing, he’s _happy_. There’s Murphy, lighting a fire in Bellamy’s soul.

Bellamy’s head breaks the surface of the water.

He breathes in fresh air, feeling the crushing despair lose some of its grip on his soul. _It’s not real. _He knows this now, but Charon’s boat is gone and there’s no way out in sight. The water is not natural, and his body is growing heavier and more exhausted by the second.

_Murphy_.

It’s not real. He knows it’s not real. And yeah, maybe he’s out of his league here, but he’s also a mortal, and he knows how to _fight_. He’s never stopped fighting.

He takes in a deep breath of air, and then dives back under the surface.

* * *

The cycle carries on until he thinks he’s going mad.

Bellamy will be above the surface, he’ll collect himself, he’ll dive back under and search, he’ll have to take a breath and he’ll feel the nightmares press in from all sides and he’ll want to stop, to give in, until it all becomes too much, and he surfaces. He needs to find Murphy. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to, but he _needs_ to.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this, but he knows that he’s going to try.

This time, though, he pauses, and throws out a last-ditch effort. “_Please_,” he yells directly to the gods, spluttering for air as he surfaces for the seemingly hundredth time, “if _any_ of you are watching, have found me _entertaining_, then please help me! Help me find him!”

He’s losing time and sanity waiting for a response, so he dives right back under the waves.

This time, a different kind of fear settles into his bones as he swims through the inky water. It’s a fear of absence, of silence, of absolutely nothing. The water is still. Nothing assaults his senses, except a soul-crushing notion of being completely, utterly _alone_.

He stretches his arms forwards, in one final attempt, and his hand closes around fabric.

It takes a second for his mind to catch up and realize what he’s done, but he pulls it closer. _Murphy_. Bellamy can barely see him through the darkness, but Murphy’s unconscious, his skin pale. It doesn’t matter. He can’t think about it right now. Instead, he grasps a tight hold around Murphy’s waist and swims up, as fast as he can, until they both break the surface.

Bellamy takes in a deep breath, relief flooding his bones. Murphy, though, does not follow. He can see the rise and fall of his chest, very slowly, meaning he’s alive, but he shows no signs of waking.

“No,” he says, “no, no, no…” There’s no sign of any kind of shoreline, except in the very distance, Bellamy can only just make out the other side of the river that Charon was supposed to take them to. He’s barely keeping the two of them afloat now, his muscles tiredly treading water through the harsh darkness.

He doesn’t have much of a choice. It’s just him, the River Styx, and Murphy, who can’t do much of anything. He doesn’t know what’s going on with Murphy, but he also can’t do anything to solve the problem here.

So, he swims.

He swims through the river, careful to keep Murphy above water, careful not to dip below the waves himself, in fear of giving into the darkness. Adrenaline courses through his veins, raising his heartrate. He loses focus on everything else and focuses only on getting to the shore as quickly as he can.

The gods must be looking out for him, because he makes it.

He doesn’t know how – truly, he doesn’t – but he sends up a quick _thank you_, just in case. The water begins to recede as they approach the shore, so much so that Bellamy can shakily stand in the water, his feet touching the rocky bank.

This side of the river is much like the last side – nothing more than a gravelly, rocky bank bordering the river. He sees what looks like a castle in the distance, but it doesn’t even register in his mind. Instead, he focuses on Murphy, laying him down gently on the shore and then pulling him out of the water completely, then pulling him a bit of an extra distance just to be safe.

Somewhere along the line, his boots fell off in the water and now, the rocks dig into and cut open his feet. He’d laugh about coming full circle if it wasn’t so scary to stare at Murphy’s still form. He sinks to his knees next to him, feeling for a pulse, and relieved when he finds it.

Still. Still, he does not know what to do.

“Murphy,” he says, then louder, “Murphy!” Nothing.

Bellamy doesn’t want to try it, but he’s afraid he has no other options, so he leans in and shouts with all his might, _“John!”_

Murphy does not stir, even then.

He’s so wrapped up in it that he doesn’t notice the air around them getting darker. He doesn’t notice the wind howl, and he doesn’t notice the temperature drop ten degrees colder. He definitely does not notice the crowd of shadowy spirits flying through the air, getting ever closer.

He doesn’t notice until he looks up and sees it.

All around him, flying in the air above him, are dark tendrils of – _something_. None of them have a cohesive shape. No, they each appear to be like clouds in their form, but they move with such a purpose that it’s obvious to see that they are alive. There are so many of them, circling the two of them, drawing in closer.

It’s all fine and manageable until one of them strikes out, brushing by Bellamy’s arm. The skin _burns_ where contact was made, and he feels a piece of his strength leave him. Another one hits his foot, his neck, his cheek – each time, the skin blisters and burns, and he grows weaker and weaker.

He doesn’t know what they are. They don’t make a sound, they just move silently and purposefully, getting closer and closer, until one of them lunges out and strikes Murphy’s form. The god doesn’t move, or react, but the skin where the shadow creature touched him burns just the same as Bellamy’s did.

_No_. He did not come this far for it to end like this.

The creatures press inwards, but Bellamy leans forwards, covering Murphy’s body with as much of his own as he can. The pain grows to a higher concentration than the adrenaline can block, and he begins to yell, but he barely even notices it.

The pain quickly turns to fury. He is _angry_. This is not fair – none of it. He whips his head upwards, gritting his teeth together, glaring at the creatures that don’t have eyes to glare back with. “Don’t touch him,” Bellamy says.

Hovering, the creatures remain. One attempts to get a mark in, but Bellamy blocks it with his own hand, bearing the pain instead of Murphy. “I _said_,” he yells, so loudly it echoes around the entire riverbank, “don’t you _dare_ touch him!”

He keeps yelling, out of pain, out of fear, out of rage. The creatures’ flight gets more intense, gets closer, until all he can see is the darkness they create. He yells, and he yells, and he _yells_. His bones are aching, he’s dripping wet with water made from darkness itself, he feels the fatigue of a thousand setting suns and yet, he _yells_.

Bellamy is a mortal. He is not ashamed of this, because he knows how to fight, and he is not done fighting – not even close.

His eyes squeeze shut as the shadow creatures press inwards, but then – there is light against his lids. He opens them in confusion, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight in front of him.

Standing there is a woman. Her hair is long and braided, reminiscent of the Fates’ complex styles. Around her eyes is some kind of black paint, making a thick layer that wraps around each eye and then draws back and drips down, onto her cheeks. She’s wearing some kind of armour, clearly carefully designed and constructed. In her hand, she holds a staff, which is giving off an incredibly bright light at the top. It’s this light that is forcing the shadow creatures away, leaving Bellamy alone.

“Hello, Bellamy,” the woman says. She does not offer a hand or step any closer. “I was told to expect you.”

He heaves in a shaking breath, rattling his lungs. Truly, he wants nothing more than to fall asleep right then and there, but even as black water drips down from his hair and obscures his vision, he does not give in. He will not show weakness in front of her. “You’re the Commander,” he says, “whatever _that _means.”

If she finds that funny, she doesn’t let it show. “Follow me,” she says, and then turns and walks away, taking the light source with her.

Slowly and unsteadily, he gets to his feet, ignoring the way the rocks cut into them, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He can’t leave Murphy, but he can’t pull him, either – the rocks could cut his back open, or worse. Bellamy doesn’t know if he can do it, but just looking at Murphy is enough to summon some strength, and he lifts him into his arms and carries him, bridal-style.

It’s unsteady, it’s shaky, and it’s far from an easy journey, but Bellamy follows the Commander towards the castle he saw in the distance. He does so without complaint, and he does so without ever slowing down.

He knows his fight is not yet over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW okay. this took forever. i always say this, but i have no update schedule, so i truly do not know when the next chapter will be out. we're looking at somewhere between 8-10 chapters in total, depending on word count, so we're halfway there!
> 
> i think this chapter turned out okay but it wouldn't have turned out at all without elle and charlie so the biggest of big thanks to them. thank u for listening to me talk endlessly about this fic and always pushing me to complete it, and just being overall so amazing towards this project and work but most of all for just being the best. i love u guys. 
> 
> please feel free to talk to me on twitter @iexasheart! i'd love to hear from you :) thank you for reading! have a lovely day <3


	6. the shackles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shackles can confine many things; bodies, time, and even love.

Bellamy knows his fight is not yet over. It doesn’t make the journey any less harrowing.

The harsh rock of the shoreline fades into a loose, gravel surface the further inland they walk. It doesn’t do anything to ease the ache in his muscles as he takes step after weary step, clutching Murphy in his arms, determined not to let him fall, above anything else. In front of him, the Commander keeps a steady stride. She pauses a few times and looks back, checking that he’s still following, though she doesn’t offer any more help than that. Whenever she looks at him, her expression is filled with disdain, and he wonders if it’s directed towards himself, his mortal status, or the god he’s carrying in his arms.

“You know,” he mutters, under his breath, more to himself than anything, “it would help me out a lot if you could, you know, wake _up_.”

If Murphy hears this at all, he doesn’t let it show.

In the distance, but getting closer, is a large castle made entirely of black stone. Before, when he’d first gotten to the shore, he hadn’t even been able to process the building, but now as it looms over him, he’s never felt smaller. A central spire takes up most of the space, stretching up into what appears to be the sky, but is actually, Bellamy knows, far from it. Two smaller towers stand on either side of this, with a large wall encircling the structure. The stone it’s built from is jet black – obsidian, almost.

It’s absolutely terrifying, and yet, he keeps walking towards it, anyways.

When they’re nearing the castle walls, he notices that Murphy’s brow has become furrowed, and his breathing has quickened, somewhere along the trek. He shows no signs of awakening, but it is becoming very clear that he is in pain.

This can’t continue – not like this. “Hey!” he yells, pushing his aches and pains all the way to the back of his mind. When the Commander doesn’t stop or slow down, he tries it again – “I said, _hey!_”

She stops abruptly, squaring her shoulders in obvious distaste of him. Slowly, she turns her head to look at him over her shoulder, her expression utterly devoid of all emotion. “We are almost there,” she says.

“My–” It becomes very clear, in that moment, that Bellamy has no idea his relation to Murphy, not anymore. Forced travel companion? It doesn’t feel right. “My _friend_,” he settles on, “he needs help.”

The Commander casts her gaze over Murphy’s form, and if Bellamy wasn’t so exhausted at his core, he’d have sworn that her eyes softened with true grief when she did so. “It is not far,” she says, her voice marginally softer. “I will help him when we have arrived.”

“I don’t – what if he doesn’t have that long?” He hates that his voice cracks on the delivery, but he isn’t ashamed of it.

“He is a god,” she replies, “and much stronger than you may think. This is not the first nightmare he has faced. Now, follow me.”

“But–”

“Have you forgotten that you are a mortal in the Underworld?” she snaps. “It is not safe for you here. Follow me, quickly, or bring about destruction for both you and your godly _friend_. Truly, I do not care.”

Bellamy looks at Murphy’s form, looks at their surroundings, and watches as the Commander turns away from him and continues her forward march. Reluctantly and out of other options, he follows her once again.

True to her word, however, the castle isn’t far at all. They arrive at the walls much quicker than he would have guessed. The stone barrier towers over them, making even the Commander seem much smaller. Despite this, she does not seem to have any fear. Gently, she presses the tip of her staff against the wall. The tip of it lights up in response, and then almost instantly, a small section of the wall disappears. Unlike the passageways Murphy had been taking him through before, where the wall would shimmer and then vanish, the castle wall disappears very abruptly with no warning – one second, it’s there, and the next, there’s an open doorway.

He’s too tired to care. Bellamy follows the Commander through, and he doesn’t even turn around to watch the wall re-appear. He’s decided he’s seen far too much magic for his liking, and when it’s not Murphy’s doing, it feels foreign and alien to him.

Thankfully, the walk from there is very quick, and before he knows it, he’s standing at the castle doorway, watching the Commander pull the door open. The more this goes on, the more exhausted he becomes, and the less he starts caring about the fact that he is in the Underworld, and how he’ll never see scenery like this again.

Well – hopefully, he won’t.

The castle itself, surprisingly, turns out to be fairly ordinary. The interior walls are all made of the same obsidian stone as the outside, the only source of light the copious number of torches placed along the walls. The entranceway turns into a long corridor, with several doors on either side, seemingly extending on forever.

The building appears to be much as he would have guessed it to be. However, what he isn’t expecting is for two skeletons to approach them out of the shadows and bow in front of the Commander. They remind him of Charon, in their build, but these two lack cloaks, or clothing of any kind. Instead, they are made only of bones, though they move easily, just as a human would. Where their eyes should be are small, haunting flames. The two of them kneel in front of the Commander motionlessly, seemingly waiting for instruction before they can carry on.

She doesn’t appear fazed by this. Bellamy wonders how many of these skeleton servants roamed the castle. “I will take my guests to the meeting room,” she tells them. “Stand guard outside. They do not leave unless I say they do.”

It’s then that Bellamy notices each one holds a curved sword. Nervously, he swallows thickly as the skeletons rise, and then walk only a small distance down the hallway, each one standing on either side of the first door on the left. “Come,” the Commander says shortly, beckoning Bellamy to follow with a slight flick of her finger.

Really, he’s getting tired of being told what to do, but he does it, anyways.

The room itself is small. There’s a long, black table in the center, with several chairs all around it. Off to the side is what he thinks is a bar, but he can’t see what’s behind it to confirm this. A few torches line the walls inside, just like in the corridor, but there’s also several candles scattered throughout the room, every single one of them burning, every single one adding a fraction of light and warmth to what would be a very dark, cold room.

Bellamy notes that the candles have all been placed here by someone, and he suspects the skeletons aren’t the culprits. His view of the Commander shifts – slightly.

“Lay him down,” she instructs, gesturing towards an empty part of the room. Bellamy kneels stiffly and moves to do so, but upon further inspection, he notices that the floor is completely made of stone and can’t be comfortable in the slightest. He pauses, now unsure, but then continues the motion and lays Murphy down on the floor.

While he’s been in this predicament, Lexa’s gone to the bar and retrieved a glass of – something? The liquid is a golden yellow, and it shines almost as brightly as the candles do. “Here,” she says, walking back towards him and handing him the drink.

Bellamy takes it in his shaking hands, mostly because he isn’t sure what else to do. “Um,” he says, “what is it?”

The Commander rolls her eyes. “It is called nektar. It will heal you. Drink.”

He’s heard of nektar in stories – writers call it the liquid of the gods, allowing anyone who consumed it to overcome death. Truly, he believes that it will work, but then he casts his gaze back down to Murphy and he can’t do as she says, not this time. “Him first.”

She sighs, clearly irritated. “I cannot help him without _you_, and mortals are…fragile. Heal, and then I will help him.”

Bellamy bites his tongue and doesn’t say anything towards the comment. He just swam through the lake of actual nightmares and survived an attack by Underworld shadow creatures, only to follow it up with a massive trek through said Underworld – barefoot. He’s pretty sure that solidifies him as _not fragile_, but he also knows the situation is too precarious to protest.

He swallows back his pride and drinks the nektar. Almost instantly, he can feel the effect. It’s as if every nerve in his body is coming to life. He’s got pins and needles from head to toe, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable like he thinks it should feel; no, instead, he feels _alive_. Gently, he runs his fingers along the burned parts of his skin, only to find the wounds have healed over. He thinks he’ll know what he’ll find, but still, Bellamy checks his now pleasantly numb feet, surprised yet content to find all his wounds vanished and healed. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, just once, feeling his exhaustion evaporate along with his exhale.

“Wow,” he says, opening his eyes. The Commander appears completely uninterested in him, but now, after his rejuvenation, this doesn’t bother him as much as it would have ten minutes ago. “You’re telling me the gods drink this stuff all the time?”

“We do,” she replies shortly. He’s not surprised to learn that she, too, is a god, though it does cause him to wonder exactly what she is the god of. He knows that Hades is the god of the Underworld, but he’s pretty sure none of the stories allude to a Commander of any sorts, and he hasn’t seen any reference to Hades anywhere.

“Don’t want to share, huh?” he mutters, but probably because she’s a god, she hears him.

“Mortals are barbaric,” she snaps, though she still doesn’t look at him. “Do you truly think it would be beneficial for anyone to give them the power of life itself? The power to outwit every soul’s true enemy, death? No, your kind would simply try and monopolize it. You would start wars over it. You would kill each other over it. Imagine that – massacres, all in the name of eternal life.”

He hates to admit that she has a point.

“Okay, fine,” he says, “so, what now? How do we give it to Murphy?”

“It is not that simple,” the Commander says. “He drowned in the River Styx.”

Bellamy shakes his head, eyes narrowing. “No, that’s impossible,” he says. “I went into it, too, and I could breathe just fine.”

“There is more than one way to drown.”

“I – what?”

“The River Styx is made of nightmares,” she says, and then approaches the pair of them, kneeling down next to Murphy’s still form, right in front of Bellamy. Up close, she’s even more hauntingly beautiful and terrifying. “He has succumbed to his.”

Bellamy remembers the crushing feeling of despair that threatened to bury him when he was in the river. He remembers the way misery and melancholy overtook his entire being, and he was willing to give up on everything, until… “So how do we save him?”

If he didn’t know better, he’d say that he sees Lexa smirk. “He is trapped in a nightmare. Either he must break free on his own, or someone must enter his mind to help.”

Bellamy blinks, slowly. Really, he shouldn’t be shocked that it’s possible to enter someone else’s mind, but there’s only so many things he can process in one day before they start hitting him. “Right,” he says, “but if he was going to do it on his own, wouldn’t he have done it by now?”

“Tell me,” the Commander says, “when you were also trapped in the River – what was it that allowed you to breach the surface?”

He doesn’t – should he answer honestly? If she’s truly a god, then she’ll know if he _doesn’t _answer honestly, right? Bellamy knows what the answer is, but some part of it scares him. Some part of the truth, this truth that he’s found himself in, feels far too complex and real and honest to be true.

“Murphy,” he finally says, biting his lip and fixating on Murphy’s form. He’s too still. It’s not right for him to be this still.

The Commander nods. “Perhaps, then, he does not have the same kind of connection to use and requires assistance.”

It feels like a slap in the face – but only for a moment, only until Bellamy remembers the last thing that Murphy said to him. _It’s not your problem, so stop trying to fix it! Stop trying to fix everything for everyone!_ His words had some truth to them, but that isn’t important to think about, not now. The last thing Murphy had felt for him before he fell in the river was rage. That knowledge hurt more than his words ever could.

“Okay,” Bellamy says, “then, I’ll help him.”

“Prepare yourself,” she says, “for, if you die inside his mind, your body dies, as well.”

“Wait, what?” he says, but he doesn’t get a chance to protest further before she brings two fingers to his forehead and puts two fingers from her other hand on Murphy’s, and then the world as he knows it disappears right from underneath him.

* * *

Bellamy’s eyes open.

He doesn’t realize they were closed until they do so, and he takes in his new surroundings. His stomach flips several times, a sense of vertigo overtaking him for a moment that he thinks shouldn’t be possible if he’s inside Murphy’s mind, but magic has never sat well with him.

Wind whips at his clothing, and he realizes he’s standing on top of a mountain.

The sun is beating down heavily, yet there’s a cold chill in the air, making him shiver through the thin fabric of his shirt. In this mind-verse, he’s thankfully wearing boots, so the rocks don’t slice his feet. Off to the left, there’s a steep cliff, dropping off all the way down the mountain. Falling from it would mean certain death.

Standing just by the cliffside edge is Murphy, and right in front of him – Hecate.

She looks the same as she did when he met her in her cabin, all that time ago, and he despises her more than he ever thought possible. The goddess is standing threateningly close to Murphy, leering down at him, sneering, her face in the most evil, twisted grin he’s ever seen. “Worthless,” she spits. “A complete disappointment.”

“I’m sorry,” Murphy whispers. Something deep inside Bellamy’s heart breaks, and he remembers why it is that he’s here.

“Murphy!” he calls. The instant his voice hits the air, Murphy’s head snaps in his direction, and his eyes go very wide. Hecate looks at him as well, her expression growing distasteful as she stares at him. It takes a lot to remember that she’s not the real Hecate, and the threat isn’t actually a pressing one.

Except – Murphy’s in danger, so maybe it is.

“Bellamy Blake,” Hecate snarls, looking away from him. Murphy, though, remains fixated. “Dead. Gone. Another soul you’ve failed.”

“No,” Bellamy yells, struggling to get his voice to carry over the horrible wind, “that’s not true! I’m alive, Murphy, and so are you!”

“_Dead_,” Hecate repeats before Murphy gets the chance to speak at all. “You let him fall. He told you to let him go, and you _did_. Pathetic.”

Upon hearing her words, Murphy’s expression becomes distraught and his eyes fall from Bellamy to the ground, then back up to Hecate. “Pathetic,” he repeats, very, very softly.

Let him fall? Bellamy’s not sure what this means, until he looks over to the cliffside edge, and – _oh_. He remembers Murphy’s tight grip on his arm, the tears in his eyes as he defied his godly curse and pulled him up over the edge, risking everything to save his life. This place is important, for them both, for very different and very similar reasons.

“You didn’t,” Bellamy says, walking forwards towards Murphy, doing his best to ignore Hecate completely. “You saved my life. You broke free from your curse and _saved_ me. I’m alive because of you.”

Bellamy approaches, and reaches out, intending to grab Murphy’s hand in his own, a desperate attempt at reassurance. Before he can, however, Hecate’s boney hand reaches out and lands on his chest. The instant her palm makes contact, Bellamy’s knees push and lock together and his arms are pushed down, becoming stuck flat, pressed to his sides. Something tight squeezes against his chest and forces him to cough, breathing becoming that much more difficult. It’s as if there are invisible ropes tied around every part of his being, and he can’t move at all. “Murphy, please,” he tries again, running out of options. “This isn’t real. It’s in your mind – you’re controlling this, it’s not _real_!”

Murphy doesn’t respond.

“You see?” Hecate says. “The real curse is _you_. Everyone around you suffers. Bellamy. Emori. Mbege.”

A single tear snakes its way down from Murphy’s eye. Bellamy struggles, pushing against his invisible bonds, but the more he fights the tighter they get, squeezing so tightly against his chest that every breath is a struggle, his lungs rattling and aching in protest. It doesn’t matter. He’s here to do one thing, and if he dies in the process, then – well, maybe that’s okay, as long as he gets the job done and Murphy’s alright. “I care about you,” he chokes out, feeling the bonds grow tighter still as he continues to speak. “Please. It’s not real. I’m here. I’m here for you.”

“Lies,” Hecate says. “The only one who has ever cared for you, looked after you, has been _me_. Even your sister left you. There is nobody who cares what happens to you.” She points a finger, pressing it directly over Murphy’s heart. “You are so, so _alone_.”

“_I’m real!”_ Bellamy screams with every ounce of being he has. It’s enough to make Murphy look at him again, to be able to stare deeply into his brown eyes, brimming with tears, but it’s not enough to break the hold that dream-Hecate has. Murphy just stands, staring, resigned to his fate, watching Bellamy with a sad, sad look in his eye.

Hecate snarls, and the bonds _squeeze_. His vision blurs. His legs shake under the strain, but as they’re trapped in bindings, too, he falls over completely, landing roughly on the mountain rock on his side, staring up at Murphy desperately.

The Commander’s warning flashes through his mind. _If you die inside his mind, your body dies, as well._ He can’t afford for that to happen before he frees Murphy from the clutches of his own nightmare, but he’s barely drawing in breath at this point, and his vision is rapidly blurring and fading at the edges. He doesn’t have long, but he has the time to make one more attempt. Bellamy’s got to make it count. He stops trying to free himself, stops fighting at all. The binds are incredibly tight, but they don’t keep getting tighter.

Instead, he just stares at Murphy, and then, out of nowhere, he realizes what he has to do.

“Murphy,” he says. His voice is weak, barely carrying over the wind anymore, but he has to hope that it’s audible. “Snap your fingers. Reach into the Nether.”

For a moment, Murphy’s expression remains still and placate, as if he hasn’t heard him at all. One second passes, then two, and then, miraculously, some life seems to return back to Murphy’s expression, and he furrows his brow in confusion, staring down at Bellamy.

“Don’t listen to him,” Hecate warns, but this time, it’s her words that Murphy doesn’t appear to hear at all.

Bellamy offers the warmest, most encouraging smile he has. It’s not hard, he finds, when it’s Murphy that he’s looking at. “Trust me.”

Murphy ponders this for only a second, before he snaps his fingers. In his hand is a piece of paper – the drawing of John Mbege that he had shown Bellamy all that time ago by fireside, in the dying light of the day.

He studies the picture for only two seconds, and then, he smiles.

“No,” Hecate says, but it’s too late. Murphy snaps his fingers again, and instead of the picture, he’s holding the hilt of a knife – the very knife Hecate ordered to kill Bellamy with should he disobey. Without another word, Murphy drives the blade into Hecate’s heart.

She stumbles back, and then she falls with only a small sound, life leaving her eyes almost instantly. The moment she dies, the invisible bonds vanish, and Bellamy coughs, forcing himself onto his hands and knees, drawing in deep inhales of air.

“Bell!” he hears, and then Murphy’s grabbing his arms, helping him stand upright. The knife’s gone, presumably back to the Nether, but Murphy’s still there, looking much more like his usual self. “I don’t understand,” Murphy says, “what is this place?”

Bellamy just laughs, unable to comprehend anything other than _they are going to be okay. _“It’s _your_ mind.”

“No, I – Charon pushed me into the River Styx, and then…_oh_, I see,” Murphy says, humming discontentedly. “Well, now that you’ve seen the sights, let’s get out of here, shall we?”

“How are we supposed to do that?”

Murphy points down the mountainside, at the ground very, very far down below them. “Do you see that?” he says. “It’s glitching out. Whatever nightmare this is, it ends somewhere before there.” Using Murphy’s guidance, Bellamy understands what he means – the ground is constantly fading in and out, the colours changing every second. It’s obvious that it’s not real, unlike the realistic scenery of the mountaintop.

“How does that help us?”

Murphy just smiles, and Bellamy’s heart flutters. “It’s your turn. Do you trust me?”

Bellamy feels more at ease than he ever has as he stares into Murphy’s excited expression. It was wrong seeing him so still. This is the Murphy that he knows, that he’s gotten so used to seeing – the one that’s vibrant and full of life, even if he’d pretend that he wasn’t. “Of course,” he says.

It doesn’t seem possible, but Murphy’s grin grows even wider, and he grabs Bellamy’s hand. Without warning, he starts running forwards, towards the cliffside, showing no sign of stopping.

Oddly, Bellamy doesn’t feel fear. He runs right after Murphy, right to the edge of the cliffside, and right over the edge, leaping with him through the air.

It’s okay to fall, he decides, if it’s done like this.

They don’t hit the ground.

* * *

Bellamy gasps loudly as he returns to his body. Just like the trip there, he feels nauseous and dizzy all at once, and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the world. The need to check on Murphy outweighs his own need for the room to stop spinning, though, and he opens his eyes.

Murphy’s grinning. “Hey, hotshot,” he whispers, exhaling loudly as he sits up.

“You’re okay,” Bellamy says. He’s incredulous that it worked, but his happiness that Murphy’s alive and alright outweighs that by far.

“I am. Thanks to you.”

He only registers the presence of the Commander as she clears her throat, standing above them and taking a seat at the long table. “Guards!” she calls. Instantly, the two skeletons from before appear in the doorway. Murphy lets out a breath of amusement, clearly positively intrigued by the walking skeletons.

“Take the god to the dungeon,” the Commander continues lazily. “Then, resume your post. I have business with the mortal.”

“Wait, what?” Bellamy says, at the same time Murphy gives an indignant noise. Before they can do anything, the skeletons are at Murphy’s sides, each one grabbing one of his arms and pulling him up and towards the door. “No!” Bellamy tries, but when he takes a step towards them, one of the skeletons threatens him with his sword until he takes a step back.

“Stronger than you look,” Murphy mutters to the guards, sounding strangely impressed. As they pass the Commander in her chair, though, he shoots her a glare. “Who even _are_ you?” he says, turning his head back to give Bellamy a mix of disdain and confusion before the guards hauled him out of the room and out of sight.

“Where are you taking him? And why?” Bellamy cries immediately.

“To the dungeon,” she replies, calm as ever, “because, as I said, we have business. Sit.” Bellamy’s hesitant – he _just_ got Murphy back, and now they’re separated again? It doesn’t sit well with him. However, she seems to sense this, and continues, “I promise you that no harm will come to him. He is a god, and I cannot trust just any god to enter my kingdom, you must understand.”

As much as he hates to admit it, it _does_ make some sense, and they were in her home. Moreover, she’d gone out of her way to help them, without anything in return. Slowly, Bellamy pulled out a chair and sat opposite her.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You say this is your kingdom,” he says, “but I thought the Underworld was ruled by Hades.”

The Commander sighs, tapping her fingers on the obsidian table, the sharp rhythm cutting through the otherwise deep silence. “Hades is my father,” she finally answers. “My name is Lexa. He…grew weary of the Underworld and named me as the new Commander of Death. Now, I cannot leave this place.”

Yet another god who turned out to be tired and lazy. “Was that your choice?”

“Does it matter?”

“I see.”

“This is no matter,” the Commander, Lexa, interrupts. “My business with you is simple – what is it that you seek in the Underworld?”

“Well,” he says, “Wolf’s Bane, actually.”

She scoffs. “You must know that can be grown on the surface, surely.”

“I’m after something a little rarer,” he says. “Fresh Wolf’s Bane, straight from a Hell Hound’s mouth – literally.”

“Hell Hounds do not exist.”

“What?”

“Not as you know them. They truly are beings of myth, drawn into stories only to scare children and weak-minded adults.”

Bellamy shakes his head, feeling the panic rise. “But – how else am I supposed to get it?”

Lexa holds up a hand to silence him. “We _do_ grow Wolf’s Bane here, and it is incredibly more potent than anything you could find on the surface. However, I do not just give this out to anybody, let alone every mortal that wanders in here.”

“I don’t understand. What’s so special about the plant?”

“As you know it? Nothing at all. The Wolf’s Bane grown down here, however – it is full of substances that can both hurt and heal, depending on how they are used. It is possible to save a life using a fresh stalk, but it is equally possible to end one.”

“Well,” he says, “I won’t be using it.”

“That does nothing to convince me.”

“I’m on a mission from the Fates,” he admits, figuring he might as well try it – there doesn’t seem to be any easy way to convince her for anything. “If I retrieve Wolf’s Bane from the Underworld for them, then they’ll grant me three wishes, or something.”

“The legendary three wishes,” she muses. “I have heard that they do this to mortals who prove themselves worthy.”

Bellamy nods. “Exactly. So, you see, I have to get it.”

Lexa leans back in her chair, looking amused for the first time since he met her. “And I am just meant to believe that you are worthy based on…your word?”

“Well – no, I mean. Surely the fact that the Fates sent me down here already proves that I can be.”

She’s silent for a long time – too long. “Tell me, Bellamy Blake,” she says, “what will you wish for?”

“I’m sorry?”

“That is the best way to test your character, is it not? Say I do give you this plant. The Fates, then, will grant you three wishes with incredible power to them. What will you wish for? What destruction will you bring about? How much of that will I be responsible for?”

“No, you’ve got it wrong,” he protests, “I don’t want any destruction!”

“That is extremely easy to say,” she counters, “and incredibly hard to prove.”

“Aren’t you a god?” he says. “Shouldn’t you just _know_ these things?”

Lexa laughs, then, throwing her head back and letting out the loudest laugh he’s heard in a long time. “You overestimate our power,” she says, once she’s recovered, “and how much the other gods care about _this_ place.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

She leans forwards, all jubilance gone, her expression completely hard and emotionless. The sudden shift in her demeanour is nothing but terrifying, and he finds himself leaning away from her unconsciously. “Tell me what you will wish for.”

Truthfully, he hasn’t thought about it all that deeply. “I just want my wife back.”

Just for a moment, he thinks he sees what looks like fear cross Lexa’s face. “Your wife,” she repeats.

“Well – not technically. We were going to be married. It felt like we were, anyways, so we just called each other husband and wife.”

“How…_mortal_ of you.” Lexa purses her lips, clearly deep in thought. He isn’t sure what he’s said to have caused this reaction, but he hopes that her ponderance means that she’s closer to giving him the plant he’s seeking. “Tell me,” she finally says, “your wife. She has died, then?”

“Yes. She was sacrificed to the Minotaur, in accordance with Arkadia’s peace treaty with Azgeda.”

Lexa’s jaw tightens, and she stares at the table, rather than his eyes. “What was her name?”

“Clarke. Clarke Griffin.”

Lexa lets out a long sigh. It’s then that he notices she’s been gripping the table so tightly that her fingertips have turned white. “I am truly sorry, Bellamy,” she says, after a long beat of silence. “You have an uncommon name. When I heard that a Bellamy was on his way to see me, I prayed you were a different one, but now…”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?”

“I cannot help you.”

“But – why? I don’t understand!”

Lexa looks back up at him, her eyes filled with true sadness. “I did not want to do this,” she says. “Truly – I am deeply, deeply sorry for this.”

“For _what_?”

“Guards!” she calls, standing and moving away from the table. Panic seizes Bellamy’s whole being, and he stands hurriedly, knocking his chair over to the floor in his rush. “What are you doing?” he demands, but Lexa refuses to even look at him.

The skeletons are back in the room, quick as a flash. “Seize him,” she says.

“No,” Bellamy protests, trying to appeal to Lexa, but she doesn’t move an inch on her order. There’s nowhere to run. The guards approach him, each one roughly grabbing one of his arms, holding him tight and fast. They bring him directly in front of Lexa, holding him so tightly that there’s no hope of escape. He tries to kick at their legs, but his blows don’t seem to bother them in the slightest. Murphy was right – they _are_ stronger than they look, stronger than a bunch of bones should possibly be.

_Murphy_.

“What about my friend?” he cries. “If you won’t help me, at least let him go free!”

“We will see,” she says. “Regardless, you will not live long enough for me to make a decision regarding his intentions.”

Bellamy’s blood grows cold. “_What?_ You’re going to kill me? After everything I’ve done to get here?”

“I cannot let you go free,” she says, “and there is no food in the Underworld mortals can consume, let alone water. Even if I wanted to keep you alive, I would have nothing to sustain you.”

“Then let me _go_! Without the plant! Just let us both _go_!” He’s desperate. She can tell that he is. Some would call that a sign of weakness, but he thinks it’s just one of humanity.

“Dehydration and starvation will claim you in days,” she continues, as if he hasn’t said anything at all. “It will not be pleasant. Afterwards, however, I will allow your soul passage into the Underworld, free of charge.”

“Well, I’ll already have _died_ in the Underworld, but thank you so much,” he snaps.

“Guards,” she says, softly, “take him to the dungeon.”

“You don’t have to do this!” he yells as the guards drag him away. He catches one last glimpse of her as they pull him out of the room, and sees the way she appears genuinely distraught at her own actions. He tries to forget this image of her. It makes it much, much easier to hate her.

* * *

The skeletons throw him in a square, metal cell, and lock the door behind him. Before he can even stand, they’re gone and out of sight.

There is absolutely nothing in the cell. There is no bed, no toilet, no sink – nothing, save for a metal floor and metal walls. The door itself is vertically barred. The holes between each bar are wide enough that he can reach his fingers through and grip the bars, but not large enough that he can get the rest of his arm through. He can’t reach the lock, though he spends close to an hour trying.

He spends the next couple of hours combing every inch of the cell, pushing down on all the surfaces, attempting to find some secret passageway or opening somewhere. There are no panels, doors, or traps – the walls, floor and ceiling are so, disappointingly smooth. He knew they would be.

There is a cell directly across from him. It’s empty, though he can see into it – it’s a carbon copy of his own. If there’s another cell in the same area, though, that might mean… “Murphy!” he calls. He’s met with silence, so he tries again, “_Murphy_!” Nothing.

Eventually, Bellamy sinks to his knees and begins to cry.

His hands wrap around the bars as he sobs, releasing all the emotion he’s let pent up over the journey. He got so far. He dragged Murphy into this mess. He left Raven all alone – he left his home all alone, left all his neighbours to fend for themselves. He’s leaving Octavia once and forever.

_They’re fine without you_.

It’s as if the River Styx is whispering in his ear once more. Even without the actual water, without the nightmares, this time around, it’s so much hard to shake the thought away.

Something lightly wraps around his hands. Shakily, he lifts his head. When he sees what’s in front of him, the breath is stolen from his body and he gasps, eyes shooting open, heart pounding through his chest.

Kneeling in front of him, on the other side of the bars, is Clarke Griffin.

At least – it _looks_ like her. She looks just like he remembers – youthful, angelic, and free. Her blonde hair still cascades over her shoulders, and her blue eyes still light up the entire room. Pure joy still radiates from her being, just as it did when she was alive. From the way her eyes are glistening, he thinks – maybe – _is_ she alive?

“Clarke?” he chokes out, his body still caught between sobs.

“Hi, Bellamy.” Her voice is soft, and light, and music to his ears.

“You’re – You’re here? It’s you?”

“It’s me,” she says. “I think it’s time that we talked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, the absolute biggest thanks to charlie and elle for listening to me ramble about this and always encouraging me with this. i love you guys.
> 
> talk to me on twitter @iexasheart! thanks for stopping by! :)


	7. the scriptures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is said that those who are aware of history are immune to repeating its mistakes. Sometimes, this happens anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote the entirety of this chapter while listening to "me & you together song" by the 1975 on repeat. since it took me like a million years to write this, that's a lot of loops. i think that song vibes with the overall message of this fic, though, so check that out if you want to set the mood a bit. (a bit).

It’s just that – there’s so much history there, when it comes to Clarke.

Bellamy falls back, hitting the floor very slowly, his legs crossing before he’s realized they’ve done so. His left hand slides down the bar and then he lets go of it completely. He shakily brings his fist into his lap, unsure of what to do. Clarke’s hand is still wrapped around his right one, holding it in place. He thinks he’s lost feeling in it.

As cruel as it is, in this moment, he wishes that their places were switched. He wishes he could be the ghost on the other side of the bars, bringing comfort to his old friend. He thinks that he’d know what to do in that scenario – he’d know what to say. Not that it would truly matter all that much. He finds himself hanging onto the empty silence, waiting for her voice to fill it once more, waiting for the rush of emotion and memory that a simple syllable brings him.

“Bellamy,” she says, and in that moment, there’s too many memories to process anything else other than the knowledge that she’s _real_.

* * *

He first met Clarke when they were children.

It was through Raven, actually, and now that he’s thinking about it, he’ll have to thank her for this when – _if_ – they see each other ever again. He’d gone into the village square with his mother, and then suddenly there was a small, tiny blonde girl running up to him and tugging at his sleeve.

She had been at least three inches shorter than him, but she held onto his shirt sleeve with the strength of someone older. “Bellamy,” she’d said, “you’re Bellamy, right?”

His mother was conversing with a fruit vendor, leaving her distracted, and leaving him trapped in this strange encounter. “Yes,” he’d finally decided on. “Who are you?”

“Clarke,” she’d replied, but continued on quickly, “Raven needs you.”

“Raven? You know her?” This in itself was surprising – being half-god, Raven had learned at a very young age to keep to herself.

“_Yes_! Come with me! Quick!” And then she’d pulled on his sleeve again with so much strength that he actually stumbled forwards a bit.

His mother turned at the sound, but she’d only smiled at the little girl. “Hello! You’re the doctor’s daughter, correct?” Clarke had nodded to this, leading to his mother to follow up with, “Alright, be back home before dark, Bellamy!”

Without another word, the girl had let go of his sleeve and he followed her willingly, racing through the village to Raven’s home. When they arrived, he was pleasantly surprised to find it wasn’t the victim of a horrible fire and the area around it seemed still and peaceful. “What’s going on?” he asked, keeping up the pace as Clarke rushed towards the door.

She didn’t answer him, but he kept following her anyways. It becomes very, very obvious as to why they’re here as soon as they enter.

Raven’s home is small – her mother is poor, and most of their work space is dedicated to her forge towards the back of the house, a parting gift from Hephaestus, Raven’s godly father. This was the space Raven used most by far, and Bellamy expected to find her there, but instead she’s in the only other room of the house, the bedroom that she shares with her mother.

Raven was standing next to the bed. Her mother was lying in it. Their hands were clasped together, joined tightly, and before he noticed anything, Bellamy saw the tear tracks on Raven’s cheeks. “She’s gone,” she said, in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper, and it was then that Bellamy finally realized her mother’s eyes were closed, and she was not breathing.

Abigail Griffin, the town’s sole doctor, was at the other end of the room, packing up her case of supplies quietly. Her face revealed that though this occasion was horribly sad, she had seen many similar situations. Vaguely, Bellamy recalled his mother’s comment, and realized that the small blonde girl who had dragged him here was the doctor’s daughter.

The silence began to drag. “Raven,” he’d said, unsure of just what else _could_ be said, “I’m so sorry.”

Raven had nodded tearfully, and then reached out towards him and Clarke. Both of them immediately went to her side and hugged her, doing the very best that any of them could possibly do.

He’d met Clarke on an incredibly dark day. Their friendship was anything but.

It hadn’t been long after Raven’s mother passed that she received a godly call from her father, inviting her to live on Olympus with him now that she was alone. “I don’t want to go,” Raven had said to them, tearfully as she was about to depart.

“It’s not safe here,” Bellamy said. They all knew how true that statement was – without her mortal mother to protect her, Raven was now a demigoddess living alone in a human world that wasn’t always too keen on divinity.

She’d packed only one bag, then hugged both him and Clarke as tightly as she could, before embarking on her new life. Hephaestus had sent a metallic chariot down from the heavens, pulled by a mechanical horse. Raven looked absolutely mortified to have to sit in it. In any other circumstance, Bellamy would have laughed at the look on her face, but it was just starting to hit him that he was losing his best – and _only_ – friend.

The chariot pulled away, and the world returned to its temporary state of being. “Well,” Clarke had said, “it’s just us then, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he’d said, “I guess it is.”

And – it was. It was them, when Bellamy’s mother died and he was left alone to care for Octavia, who, despite being now an orphan of the state, would not be allowed to live a normal life without the risk of being arrested or killed just because she was the daughter of a criminal. More often than not, Bellamy stayed at their home to look after his sister, and almost every time Clarke would show up at his door, ready to do whatever she could.

It was them when Raven returned for the first time. She held a strong aura of confidence, despite her newfound limp and the tears that threatened to escape from her eyes. She’d told them about arriving on Olympus, and about being thrown off of it, and if he wasn’t afraid of being struck down right there and then, he would have sworn off the gods, verbally, as loudly as he could.

It was them, too, when she left once more, deciding that even though living with the gods crushed her soul, it was better than pretending to be someone she wasn’t. There was no chariot coming to take her away this time, but Bellamy and Clarke waved her off, anyway. To them, she would always be regal.

It was just them, growing up in their village, surrounded by people who had faith in the government and the gods above. When Clarke wasn’t busy helping her mother with medicine, and when Bellamy wasn’t busy helping Octavia or tending to his mother’s old, small farm outside their home, his only source of income, they’d meet at the edge of town. At the entrance to the forest was a small cave, and here Clarke would draw on the walls and Bellamy would just sit, and reflect, and appreciate that he was truly alive.

And even though he did everything he could to prove otherwise, it seemed, it ended up just being them after Bellamy’s heart had broken once again.

There was another boy in the village, his age only different by a year to Bellamy. His name was Atom, and he was beautiful. Bellamy had felt love before in his life – he knew he loved his mother, Octavia, and he thinks he loved Clarke, but those were different. The love he felt for Atom was the kind that grabbed hold of his entire being and squeezed, comfortingly yet threateningly, a constant reminder that with one wrong move it would all come crashing down.

They’d meet in an old alleyway behind the market stalls, out of sight of the rest of their neighbours. While it was true they were young, they were not stupid, and they knew what they were doing was not acceptable. Consequences, though, were not something that graced Bellamy’s mind.

It was during one of their meetings that Atom said, breathlessly, “Bellamy, I’m leaving.”

Those words were not something he could process quickly. “What?”

They’re standing only inches apart, the exchange happening between desperate kisses, but the air around Bellamy grew cold. “C’mon,” Atom said, “you knew this wasn’t forever.”

He did. He did, but he’d never let himself admit it. “Where are you going?”

“The city. I’m going to marry Fox, and we’re going to live by the palace. I’m going to be a royal guard.”

“For the Kane family? Really?”

“Hey,” Atom snapped, “this is not the time for one of your political tirades.”

Atom was beautiful, it was true, but he was not very smart. Yet, Bellamy let him kiss him again, and then, “Fox? You’re really marrying her?”

Atom let out a deep sigh, drawing back and placing a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. The condescension was extremely high, and Bellamy wondered how he let himself get into this position in the first place. “You could come,” he said, “and apply to be a guard, too. And we could…I’m sure Fox wouldn’t mind what happened at work.”

For a moment – though he’d be ashamed to think about it later – the thought of another life flashed before his eyes. He could pack it all up and move to the city, where people were said to be exciting and busy and fun, and he could have a safe, stable job where he would not be drafted to appease the Minotaur, and he would never have to farm another day in his life, and he would leave Octavia to her own devices, and he would sneak into corridors with a boy who never really loved him at all, seeking small moments of pleasure amidst the despair and desperation, until they were caught and they’d go down in history as those two guards who didn’t try hard enough.

“I can’t,” he said, “you know that.”

Atom’s expression darkened, as if he was genuinely upset – but only for a moment. “Find yourself a nice girl, Bellamy,” he said, “and settle down. Expand your farm, maybe. I think it would be good for you.”

And with that, Atom gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked out of the alleyway, disappearing into the afternoon sun. Bellamy allowed himself to cry, only for a minute, before he collected himself and made a beeline for the forest’s edge, where Clarke was already waiting in the cave.

“It didn’t go well, huh?” she said, and for the second time, Bellamy allowed himself to break just a little bit.

Clarke moved to the side, allowing him to sit next to her and lean against her for comfort. They were older now, both of them nearing the age where the village expected them to marry, and both of them understanding that the world was more often twisted and cruel than it was forgiving. “He’s leaving,” he said, and Clarke didn’t respond, but he knew that she understood.

And, really – that was the core of it, when it came to Clarke. She _understood_.

She’d been drawing on the cave walls again, making beautiful portraits of the world outside, putting beauty in the scenery that he’d never be able to see without her perspective. “You’re the most talented person I know,” he said.

“Hmm. Thanks. You can marry me, you know.”

He lifted his head, staring at her with wide eyes. “What?”

“Bellamy, please, don’t be silly. You _know_ that we both have to marry somebody and start families, or else people will talk and life will get just that much harder. My mother spends all her free time picking out possible suitors for me, but that’s not what I want, and I don’t think it’s what you want, either.”

He did want to marry. He wanted to be in love – the real, romantic kind. For a short while, he was sure that he wanted to marry Atom, despite the impossibility of it, but now? “I couldn’t ask you to do that, Clarke. Not when – we’re not in love.”

“No,” she said, “but I’d rather marry my best friend than a complete stranger. And down the line, if – no, _when_ we each meet the person we’re meant to be with, who we love, then…we can stay married for pretenses, but what happens behind closed doors is behind closed doors.”

He’d nodded, still not sure. It was definitely something that he would want, but he couldn’t deal with a guilty conscious of making her do something that wouldn’t give her the happiness she deserved. “Are you sure you would want that?”

“Yes,” she said, reaching forwards to take his hands in hers. “You’re my best friend, Bellamy. It doesn’t matter what happens, or what anyone thinks – it only matters that we’re together.”

And that was the truth of the matter – it was them, together.

Only a few days after this, the sorceress Niylah had come to town, and upon her departure she took Octavia’s heart with her. He cried over this for days, and wasn’t ashamed to admit it – he’d stayed in this small, backwards village just for her. He’d given up his childhood, just for her. Everything he’d done, his only motive behind all his actions for years, had been just for her, and in less than a month she’d thrown it all away and left him alone.

Not alone – there was Clarke, once again, promising that as long as they were _together_, life would carry on. Bellamy was a restless person – he needed a reason to carry on, a reason that was centered on helping somebody else, because he didn’t know how to live with just himself. For as long as he could remember, his reason had been Octavia, but slowly he began to realize that his reason could be Clarke’s happiness, instead.

She gave him a reason to exist beyond just existing. She reminded him, every day, that even though every person in his life had left him, he would never be alone, because they were together.

Clarke moved her belongings into his home and began helping with the farm. The next day, they made plans to be married. They day after that, King Kane called out her name across the square and she was thrown into the brig of a ship and brought to her untimely death.

His life can be separated, quite divisively, into _before Clarke _and _after Clarke_. Her death was too soon – it wasn’t part of their plans for life, a life that Bellamy had just began to feel comfortable with. He was just beginning to see it unfolding in front of them and was just starting to feel hopeful about their future, until she was ripped away and suddenly, he was back at square one, alone, abandoned, and forced to come to terms with just existing as himself.

Rather than do that, he decided to bring her soul back from the Underworld, because, he supposes, he’s always going to be a restless person.

* * *

And now – here she is, sitting in front of him, looking just the same as she had when she was alive. All the spirit and vibrance are still there, practically exuding off of her being, yet – it feels wrong. He should be ecstatic, now that she’s there with him. For a brief moment he is, he thinks, but the feeling fades very, very quickly. Something isn’t right.

She’s still just – _staring_ at him, waiting for him to process the information. He knows that she knows exactly how he manages his emotions and his thoughts, and the way that even in death she can read him so well but soothes his spirit and angers his soul.

“How?” he finally says.

“I died,” she says. Her tone is soft and light, as if her words are dancing over the air. “This is the Underworld.”

“I – I _know_, but how are you _here_?”

She breaks eye contact for the first time once he’s said this, dropping her gaze to the floor, but she brings it back up quickly, trying to hide whatever emotion it is she’s feeling. “I think,” she says, slowly, “you should answer that, first.”

“I came for you,” he says, and all of a sudden, the words are coming easier, faster. “You aren’t supposed to be dead, Clarke. I’m here to get you back.”

“Bell, there’s no such thing as ‘supposed to be.’ I _am_ dead. Mortals die.”

“It was _wrong_!” he says. His voice is rising without his own consent, but he doesn’t try to change it. “It was wrong, and I’m trying to change that!”

She sighs. “Bellamy…”

His throat feels tight and dry, all of a sudden. This is not how he imagined their reunion to be. “Why aren’t you helping me with this?” he asks, his voice going very, very quiet. “Don’t you want to come back with me?”

“I can’t change the natural order.”

“But I’m _here_. I’m mortal and alive, but I still made it here, for _you_. I’ve broken all the rules doing this. I’ve almost _died_, more than once, doing this. But I’m here. I’ve changed the natural order. So – help me get out of here, and we’ll go back home, together!”

“I can’t.”

That’s – he can reason with that answer, he thinks. It’s possible to make sense of it. “Right, of course you can’t open the cell. Um – did you see Murphy anywhere in here? He’s probably in another cell–”

“Bellamy.”

“–but he might be able to use magic and get out, if you just – just tell him I’m here? And that I’m okay, but we need to get out of here before the Commander, or Lexa, or _whoever_ realizes we’re escaping.”

“Bell. Please, stop.”

Her hand is still holding Bellamy’s. She feels real and corporeal, despite her deathly status, but the contact is starting to feel less comforting and more stifling. “Why?” he says. “Why don’t you want to help me?” She’s silent. It’s infuriating. “You want to come back with me, don’t you?”

She stays silent, but her gaze once again falls to the floor. There’s something big she’s not telling him, but it doesn’t matter to him – all he sees is red. In anger, he pulls his hand back, wrestling it free from underneath hers and drawing it back into himself. She’s hurt by this, quite obviously by the way her jaw drops, but he doesn’t see any reason to take it back.

“Why, Clarke?” he cries, using the anger as fuel as he stands, ignoring the way she doesn’t match his movements and keeps sitting in front of the bars. “Is this really about the ‘natural order?’ Since when do you care about _that_? Is this about the gods? What have they ever done for us, except make our lives miserable? Huh? What kind of loyalty could you possibly owe to _them_?”

“They’re not all bad,” she says, softly, and well – it’s the first sensible thing she’s said.

“No,” he says, “they’re not. But then _what_? What’s stopping you?”

“Sit down, Bellamy. Please.”

“No!” He’s practically howling at this point, pacing desperately all around his cell. There’s not much room to move, but his mind is scattered in so many different directions that it doesn’t matter. “You’re just – You think you can just show up here like nothing has happened? I came here to rescue you, Clarke, and you’re obviously not telling me everything! What is going _on_ with you?”

“_Sit_. Please. And – I’ll tell you everything.”

He looks at her then, for real, and when he sees the vulnerability in her wide eyes all the fight leaves him and he deflates, crumpling to the ground quite unceremoniously. He collapses into a heap of limbs, and he does nothing to fight the sole tear that slides down his cheek. “Tell me everything,” he says, “please.”

She nods, collects herself, and then –

“The Minotaur did kill me. It was – I really, really don’t want to go into it again, but it wasn’t an easy death. My body wasn’t buried, so when I got down here, I didn’t have a coin to give Charon. Honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about it – I was disoriented, and still very shaken from my death itself. Wandering the coastline for a hundred years might not have been so bad.

“But then…I was lucky, Bell. Really lucky. Lexa was walking the coastline, checking up on Charon and his progress, and she saw me. I think she took pity on me – I probably looked like a mess, since ghosts often look like they did the moment their body died. Maybe she knew it was the Minotaur that killed me. I don’t know. Either way, she took me with her to her castle.

“She helped me, got me steady and back in control of myself. Most importantly, she cast a spell – some kind of death magic, but that’s why I’m corporeal. I feel the same as I did when I was alive, except my heart doesn’t beat, I don’t breathe, I don’t sleep…but it doesn’t matter. Lexa’s given me a life, here, at her side.”

He’s expecting more. He’s expecting some kind of game-changing detail, something that sheds light on why she wants to stay here, rather than return home with him, even though he came all this way. He doesn’t expect her to stop and stare at him, waiting for his response to her story.

“That’s it?” he says. “The Commander of Death, or whatever, invited you to live in her castle? And…you want to?”

“Bellamy.”

“No, I – what has she given you? Do you have power here, status? I didn’t think you’d care about stuff like that, but I get it, if that’s what’s happened.”

“Bellamy, no.”

“Wait – Lexa’s a goddess. Did she give you _that_ kind of status? Do you have magic now?”

“_No_. Bellamy, no, think about it!”

“I _am_! It just doesn’t make any sense!”

“I love her! Okay? I’m in love with Lexa, and I want to stay here and live with her, okay?”

Oh.

He blinks, a couple times, in shock. “Oh, I – I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not realizing. I should have known, but – I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in love before.”

She smiles, softly, and just that’s almost enough to make his anger subside. “I haven’t been. Not like this.”

It’s odd – he can’t explain it, not yet, but the longer he thinks about it the more he comes to terms with a deep, aching melancholy that’s always had a home in his chest. Because – it’s fitting, isn’t it? He comes all the way to the Underworld for her, but she’s found reason enough to stay?

“Behind closed doors,” he says, softly.

“I am sorry,” she replies, “I know the lengths you went to get here. I know that this – this can’t be what you want to hear. But…I hope that it’s something you can understand, and at the end of the day, I want you to know that I’m happy. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Of course she is. Of course she’s happier, only after she’s left him alone. It’s selfish to think like this, so he doesn’t verbalize a single word of his thoughts, but he can’t control the hurt he feels.

His sole motivation was Octavia, but he’s seen firsthand that his support isn’t needed in her life anymore. Then it was Clarke’s happiness, but as she sits in front of him, he understands that she’s found that all on her own, and his help is most certainly not needed.

Suddenly, Bellamy feels very, very restless.

“So,” he says, “I guess I’ll just – I’ll just go home, then, huh? If your ‘girlfriend of death’ will ever let me out of here, or Murphy, for that matter.”

“Wait,” she says, “first – there’s something you need to understand. Lexa wants to help you. She _is_ a nice, kind person. But if you took the Wolf’s Bane to the Fates…you would wish for me to come back to life, and Lexa didn’t want that to happen, so she locked you in here.”

He sighs. “She could have just _said_ so,” he says, but deep down, he understands her motivation. If he were in her shoes, he might have done the same.

Clarke stands, slowly, and he follows suit, the feeling now returned into his limbs and his emotions under control, the grief of the moment compartmentalized deep within his mind for him to come to terms with much later. “I can let you out of here,” she says, “and I can give you the Wolf’s Bane.”

“But – you just said–”

“If you get your three wishes,” she continues, “and my coming back to life is what would make you truly happy, then I won’t stop you. After all this, you deserve to have the option to do whatever you think is best.”

“I – thank you, but Clarke…”

She takes a deep breath before continuing on. “But Bellamy, I need you to understand something. You and I were a placeholder for something else, something bigger. I have found true happiness, Bellamy. I am in love. I have found my perfect eternity.”

“I’m happy for you. I am.”

“Bellamy,” she says, more forcefully than he could have imagined possible for her, “you deserve to be happy, too. _Truly_ happy.”

He swallows, thickly, his throat feeling all too tight again. “I don’t know what that means for me. Not anymore.”

She smiles, a certain twinkle captured in her eye. “Actually – I think you do.”

And, actually, maybe he does.

Clarke pulls out a key and unlocks his cell, the door swinging open soundlessly. It’s an odd moment for Bellamy – he is at the biggest crossroads of his life. There are so many things that he could do with this moment.

He could take Clarke by the hand and force her to run away with him, out of the Underworld and back to his farm. He could demand she take him to Lexa, and he could try to convince her to let Clarke go back with him. He could run rampant through the Underworld until he found Wolf’s Bane and take it to the Fates himself, and then wish for her return. He could do none of those things, and rot in his cell for all eternity.

But these are things he _could_ do.

“I want,” he says, “to find Murphy.”

Clarke smiles. “Then do it.”

* * *

It turns out not to be very hard.

Murphy’s cell is down the hall, but it’s identical to the one Bellamy was trapped in just moments ago. The god jumps up when he sees the two of them approach. “Bellamy!” he says, running to the bars and grabbing onto them. “It is good to see _you_, hotshot.”

“Murphy,” Bellamy says, and for a moment he doesn’t say anything more, instead placing a hand over Murphy’s around one of the bars, feeling the way his spirit soars when they make contact. It’s an exact parallel of when Clarke had taken hold of his hand, but it’s different this time – it feels _right_.

Clarke’s got a ring of keys in her hand, and is sliding through them to find the right one. Only now does Murphy seem to notice her, his expression immediately darkening. “Is that…”

“Murphy, this is Clarke.”

“_The_ Clarke?”

Clarke’s brow raises, but she doesn’t comment. “Yes,” Bellamy replies. “Clarke Griffin.”

Murphy nods, stepping back, his hand slipping out from underneath Bellamy’s. “I see,” he says. “You should go, then! Get her out of here while you can.”

“Murphy.”

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine! Hecate will come for me eventually. Just _go_!”

“_Murphy_. I’m not going anywhere.”

Clarke finds the right key and unlocks the door, the bars swinging forwards until there’s nothing left separating them all. “What are you saying?” Murphy asks, his voice small and soft and obviously afraid of something.

Bellamy closes the distance between them and placing a hand on Murphy’s shoulder, a physical reminder that this moment is, indeed, real. The god’s breath is coming short and fast, but so is Bellamy’s. He doesn’t want to let go of the contact, and draws his hand up, finding rest on Murphy’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, “not without you.”

That’s all it takes. Murphy’s hand is at the back of his neck and he pulls him down, then in for a kiss, and if it weren’t for the fact they were standing in a metal cell in the actual Underworld Bellamy would have made the moment last much, much longer.

They break apart, because they have to, not because they want to. “Come on,” Clarke says, a smile brighter than the sun on her face. “Let’s go get some Wolf’s Bane, hmm?”

* * *

He knows that Clarke’s in a position of some power here, and that the skeleton guards won’t attack them, but as they walk down the corridors of Lexa’s Underworld castle, Bellamy can’t help but feel on edge. Maybe it’s the mortal human in him.

Murphy walks with him, at his side, shoulder to shoulder, while Clarke leads them. It’s the most comfort he’s ever felt from another being, he thinks. He thinks he could get used to this.

Clarke leads them down several more hallways, then through one of the many stone doors. They come to a greenhouse, of sorts. Plants line each of the walls, and some hang unnaturally from the ceiling. The air inside, however, is chill – even colder than it is outside. He isn’t sure how anything grows without heat or sunlight, but he supposes in the Underworld, none of the regular rules apply.

When they enter, Lexa’s already there.

Bellamy takes a step back, instinctively, as does Murphy. Quickly, however, Lexa holds up a hand of surrender. “I won’t hurt you,” she says, “or lock you up. Not again.”

It was one thing to hear that Clarke was in love with her, and another see it. Whereas Bellamy and Murphy had shied away from the Commander of Death, Clarke practically runs right over to her, kissing her quickly and softly and then standing at her side, smiling warmly.

They’re like the sun and moon, he thinks, but he can see the happiness radiating off them both, and that’s enough for him.

“It has become clear to me,” Lexa continues, “that Clarke values you – a gesture which I can see that you return…even if your companion has his doubts.” Bellamy sneaks a look at Murphy and notices the way his shoulders slump upon hearing the statement. There’s some work to do there, then. Bellamy makes it his next mission to prove himself to Murphy, and prove that he won’t abandon him, not for anyone.

“I do,” Bellamy says. “And I…Clarke told me that the two of you are in love.”

He never though he’d see the Commander of Death smile, but in this moment, she does, and it is one of the most beautiful, yet striking sights he’s ever had the pleasure to see. He thinks that any kind of love powerful enough to make Death herself break out of melancholy is worth protecting, no matter the repercussions. “We are,” Lexa replies.

“I think,” he says, “none of us should be fighting each other.”

Lexa takes a long, deep breath, using it to steady herself. “There is truth to that statement,” she finally decides. “Clarke has convinced me to help you on your quest, and to offer you Wolf’s Bane. I will fulfill her request.”

“Thank you,” he says, because it’s polite, but the more he thinks it over, the more he realizes that he doesn’t particularly _care_. Instinctually, he nudges Murphy with his arm and then takes hold of his hand in his. There are things worth caring about, he decides, and he thinks maybe he doesn’t need a plant to figure out what they are.

“However,” she says, “Bellamy Blake, I must ask this of you. I know that the Fates will offer you three wishes. As much as it…_pains _me to say it, you have proven yourself to be an exceptional mortal in every way, even in the short time that I have known you, and as such, there will be no debate as to whether or not you deserve what they can offer. But please, consider all that you have learned upon making your decision, and consider the future. There are many possible ones that can come from this moment. I ask you only to reflect on them, and decide for yourself which is _truly_ the one most desired.”

If Bellamy were a cynic, he’d think that she’s only trying to save herself and the happiness she’s found in her statement. It’s possible that selfishness is the only motive behind Lexa’s words, but he senses something deeper there. He thinks that Death has nothing to gain from lying.

“I will,” he says, “I promise.” It doesn’t escape his notice that, as he says this, Murphy’s grip on his hand only tightens.

Lexa nods, satisfied for now, and then reaches to one of the plants on her left. She delicately picks off a branch, and then mutters something under her breath. Immediately as she does so, a sharp wind whistles through the greenhouse. The plant stalk she’s holding shakes and shivers, and as it stills, several deep violet flowers bloom all around it.

“You can do that with your magic?” Murphy whispers, not realizing he’s said it aloud for several seconds. “I’m jealous.”

Lexa smiles, softly, and walks over to them. She takes out a small leather case, small enough to fit in someone’s pocket, and slips the stalk inside. “Here,” she says, giving the case to Bellamy, who takes it gingerly. To Murphy, then, she says, “I would suggest you keep it in the Nether, however, I understand that yours is at capacity.”

“Like I said,” Murphy says, sighing, “I’m jealous.”

“Do not be,” she says, immediately and sharply. “Never forget that you are the son of the goddess of magic. Hecate has cursed you to hold you back. Without her, you are capable of astounding feats.”

Murphy’s eyes widen, and he nods, but falls into a contemplative silence. Bellamy squeezes his hand, unsure of how else to offer his support, but the small smile Murphy offers him seems to mean the message is received.

“Thank you,” Bellamy says, filling the silence. “For this, and for not locking us up again.”

Lexa looks offended, for a moment, and then realizes he isn’t serious and surprisingly laughs. “I am pleased to have met you, Bellamy,” she says, “though, for all our sakes, I hope we do not meet again for many, many years.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “me, too.” He remembers how, when he was hanging off that cliffside with only Murphy keeping him from plummeting, how ready he had been to die and end it all, just to be reunited with Clarke. He knows why he felt that way, but he can’t imagine ever feeling like that again.

Clarke comes forwards, joining Lexa’s side, and letting her place an arm around her in solidarity. “For what it’s worth,” she says to him, “thank you for coming all this way just for me. Even though it didn’t go as you thought it might, it means a lot.”

“Of course,” he says. “And – thank you. For the clarity.”

She seems surprised, but then she understands and nods warmly. Carefully, he tucks the case of Wolf’s Bane into his pocket, and then with a nod from Murphy, he says, “Do we just leave the same way we came, or…?”

Once again, he’s caught Lexa off guard. “Of course,” she says, “my apologies, I neglected to mention. I will give you access to my private network of transportation.”

“You – You have one of those? Do all the gods have that?”

“No,” she says, “many simply use Hecate’s. I prefer to distance myself from that woman.” She snaps her fingers, and upon her doing so, two skeleton guards enter the room. Bellamy flinches by default, but now that he knows they aren’t here to harm him or Murphy, they are pretty cool to look at. “Please, escort our guests to the entrance to my tunnels.” Lexa turns to Murphy then. “You will be able to navigate them from there?”

“I think so.”

She nods. “Remember, son of Hecate – you are more powerful than you give yourself credit for.”

“Goodbye, Bellamy,” Clarke says.

“Goodbye, Clarke,” he replies. It’s a sentence he never thought he’d say willingly, but it doesn’t hurt to speak it. She dashes out from Lexa’s arm to give him a quick hug, but then she lets go and retreats back, allowing him to leave with a smile on her face.

He looks her in the eye and he smiles, too, a deep sense of peace filling his heart. After all, he came on this quest to rescue someone he loved, but he thinks he fell in true love along the way.

He turns, and Murphy follows, willingly keeping his hand firmly in Bellamy’s grip. The skeleton guards lead them down several corridors and out the door of the castle. He hadn’t thought it would, but it feels good to be leaving.

* * *

The tunnel network turns out to be near identical to the ones they had been using. The entrance was just outside the castle, and once they entered, the doorway had sealed up behind them. Murphy had infused his magic into the walls, and in less than a minute, had found the correct exit, pushing down on the wall until it shimmered out of existence and led them into a new passageway.

They emerge from the tunnel in the atrium of the Fate’s home.

Bellamy never thought he’d be so happy to see this place again, but once the tunnel behind them seals back up and they’re _safe_ and _together_, for real, he lets out a cheer. “We did it!” he yells, throwing his arms around Murphy and pulling him in tight.

Murphy squeezes him back, tightly, and then pulls back, letting out a cheer of his own. “Looks like you were right,” he says, “being a pioneer isn’t so bad, after all.”

“And you doubted me!”

“Oh, please. I had every reason to. You nearly killed yourself five times over getting here.”

“So, you _didn’t_ like having to save my life?”

Murphy slaps his arm, playfully. “You’re supposed to be the hero, not me. Let’s keep it that way, alright?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Bellamy says, softer this time. “You’re plenty a hero to me.”

Murphy doesn’t get a chance to respond. Raven emerges from one of the rooms, an enormous grin on her face, with Luna close behind. “You did it!” she yells. He runs towards her and wraps her in a giant hug, relieved that he’s alive and that she’s been safe this whole time. Murphy hangs behind him, but Raven seems to notice his discomfort. “Oh, come here,” she says, and when he does, she gives him a hug, too.

“You survived,” Luna says, once they’ve all calmed down partially. “I knew you could, but I am impressed, nonetheless.”

“I had some help,” Bellamy says.

“Yeah,” Murphy cuts in, “a _lot_ of help.”

“Hey!”

“What? It’s the truth!”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to tell the all-powerful leader of the Fates that!”

Murphy just scoffs. “Oh, so _now_ you want to be the hero?”

Luna shakes her head, but her smile betrays her amusement. Anya and Echo have both appeared now, as well, standing on either side of the balcony above them. “You have it, then?” Anya calls down.

Bellamy nods, pulling out the leather case, and carefully taking out the stalk of Wolf’s Bane, holding it out for Luna to take. “Oh, I don’t need that,” Luna says. “You can keep it.”

“You – seriously? You don’t need it?”

“No,” she says. “The quest was for you to prove yourself worthy, and you have.”

“_Really_?”

Luna doesn’t reply, and instead, ascends the staircase and takes her place in the middle of the Fates, so that all three of them are standing on the balcony, staring down at him, Murphy, and Raven.

“Bellamy Blake,” Anya says, “you have completed your mandated quest with success.”

“Now, as says our rules,” Echo continues, “we will grant you three wishes, unless any present in this room take issue with this.”

Silence falls. Nobody says a word. Bellamy debates saying that he takes issue with it, because really, what _is_ he doing here? How is he supposed to deal with the power of having three wishes? The plan was only Clarke, but now that’s not as straightforward as it used to be. Hecate made him vow that he would wish for her to be equal in status with the other gods on Olympus, but he doesn’t think he can bring himself to do that, not with all that he knows about her – but if he doesn’t, Murphy’s curse will kick in and he’ll kill him. And then he’s got a _third_ wish? What kind of person wants that many things?

It doesn’t matter what he thinks, in the end. “Alright,” Luna says, “the Fates have voted unanimously that Bellamy Blake will receive three wishes. Anything within our power will be granted, with no exceptions.”

Raven and Murphy have moved to the edge of the room, giving him the floor. She smiles encouragingly at him, while Murphy just nods, saying so much in such a simple gesture.

“Bellamy Blake,” Luna says, “what is it that you wish for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. i can not believe we have made it this far. i have never seen a wip through to this point. i have also never written anything that surpasses fifty (50!!!!) thousand words before. i'm guessing there will be two more chapters, which means, really, that we're in the home stretch. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who has left nice words for me, it really means a lot reading them all. and special thank you to charlie and elle, who let me talk about this fic endlessly and never telling me i'm annoying. that really, really means a lot, too. thank you.
> 
> feel free to talk to me on twitter @iexasheart if you like! <3


	8. the epitaph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the epitaph, the elegy, the obituary, the commemoration, or - the end.

“Bellamy Blake,” Luna says, “what is it that you wish for?”

It’s like the entire world opens up right before Bellamy’s eyes. Only now, as he stares up at the Fates towering over him, does he realize how vastly underprepared he is for this moment.

Nervously, he clears his throat, but the sound only heightens the awkwardness he feels. “I get three?” he asks, his voice small, his mind moving far too quickly for him to keep up.

Echo sighs, studying her nails in boredom. “Is that your wish? You’re seriously wishing for three wishes?”

“No!”

Luna offers a small smile, seemingly understanding of his struggle. “Yes. You get three.”

“And…they can be _anything_?”

“Anything within our power,” she continues.

Anya scoffs. “And for a mortal? Our power can do anything you could possibly conceive of.”

“Did you seriously not think ahead for this?” Echo calls down again. “Most mortals would spend every waking second fantasizing over the riches they could get.”

Bellamy nearly laughs at that. “No, I – I had other things on my mind.” He risks a glance to the side, notices Murphy’s smile, and feels a flutter in his chest that he hasn’t felt in years.

The Fates grow silent. Bellamy takes a deep breath, stops, and thinks.

His first wish he always thought would be for Clarke’s life. After all, it had been his main motivation in setting out on this quest, and it had been the driving force behind all his decisions up until – well, up until he actually saw her again. He could be selfish in this moment, but now that he knows it would go against all of her wishes, and now that he knows she’s happier where she is than she ever was in their village, back in the mortal world…it isn’t so easy. He doesn’t think he can live with the guilt if he follows through.

Strangely, though, as he bids Clarke a final goodbye in his heart, it doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He thinks that there must be something else there filling up the space.

He remembers, too, the deal he made with Hecate – the entire reason he learned of the Fates existence at all. Bitterly, he supposes he has her to thank for that, and for introducing him to Murphy – but that’s about it. Still, she’d made him promise to wish that she had equal power to the rest of the gods and be allowed to enter Mount Olympus whenever she wished. He knows now all that she has done and all that she is capable of. This seems like an astoundingly bad idea.

Of course, if he doesn’t wish for this, then Murphy will plunge a blade through his heart, and it feels like pretty low odds to bank on him overcoming a powerful, godly curse for the second time. Still – he can’t do it. He can’t wish for it, not with a clear conscious.

So, he’s back to square one, with three wishes at this disposal.

What does he want? He’s got a home waiting for him, and a budding farm. He could wish for the success of his crops, he supposes, but then that would take all the work out of it, and any success he _did_ have would feel false. He could wish for riches – but the same problem arises from this. He could wish for happiness, maybe, but then he remembers Murphy’s with him, and the need for this wish dissipates.

Bellamy thinks that, somehow, he’s got everything – but he has to make sure. “Murphy,” he says, “I need you to answer something, honestly.”

“Um – yeah, of course.”

“Would you come back with me?”

Murphy’s eyes grow wide, his expression stunned. “Come back with you?”

“If you could,” he says, “would you come to back with me, and live on my farm with me? Back in my village?”

He can see the tears glisten in Murphy’s eyes, but his smile shows that they’re ones of happiness. “Yeah. Yes, yes, of course.”

Bellamy nods, some of the weight lifting off his shoulders. He turns to Raven, then, who’s watching them both with a grin. “And Raven,” he says, “are you happy here, with the Fates? Would you want to stay, if you could?”

Raven looks surprised, as well, and then glances up at the balcony, her gaze meeting Luna’s steady one. “Yeah,” she says, “I’m happy here.”

“Is that what – what you want most? All you would want?”

Somehow, she knows what he’s referring to. “Yeah,” she says, “the rest, that’s all part of who I am.”

He then thinks of his sister, thinks of Niylah, even, and knows that they’re happy in their cabin. In this moment, he wants to ask her what she would like, but in his heart, he knows that she doesn’t want anything more than she already has. Even deeper down, he knows that he forgave her a long time ago, and this sets a part of his soul at peace.

He thinks of all the people he’s met along his quest here, and he thinks of how different a person he is now than he was when he set out. He thinks about all the grievances he’s overcome, and he thinks of the future he could have now, and he thinks of all the hurt and pain that still exists in the world, and he knows that most of it is the fault of somebody else.

Bellamy knows exactly what he has to do.

“Right,” he says, and he takes another deep breath, steadying himself as he looks up at the Fates. “I wish for Emori to be free from _all_ of the prisons and curses that Hecate has placed upon her, and for her to be able to leave and make a home wherever she wishes, free of Hecate’s pursuit.”

Anya and Echo exchange a look, clearly somewhat surprised, but Luna’s smile doesn’t falter. “It is done,” she says.

“Wait, really?” he says, expecting some grand display of power. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Luna replies.

He almost laughs, thinking of the difference between their magic and other spells he’s seen. “I don’t know what I was expecting,” he reasons.

“We’re the most powerful beings in the universe,” Anya snaps. “Grand displays are a bit…_below_ us, don’t you think?”

There’s some kind of moral in there, but Bellamy’s a bit too overwhelmed to decipher it.

“Now that that is done,” Luna says, “what is your next wish?”

“For my second wish,” he says, “I wish for Raven to have free will over her own life, so that she can stay here if she wishes. The gods will no longer have a say on where she is and will not control her life. She will be able to live here as long as she wants.” He stops, then thinks of one more thing – “Free of _all_ pain.”

The smile on Luna’s face grows a bit brighter. She nods, and then immediately after, Raven gasps. She places a hand on the wall, steadying herself. “Are you okay?” Bellamy asks, worried he’s messed it up somehow.

“Yeah,” she says, a tear sliding down her cheek. “It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Bellamy looks up at the Fates in wonder, then back at Raven. “It doesn’t?” he says.

Gently, she shifts her weight, standing evenly on both legs. “Thank you,” she says, “for everything you said. I – I can’t–”

“It’s okay,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “I know.”

“You have one wish left,” Luna says. Her tone now, though, is much lighter. “What would you like to ask for, Bellamy?”

He notices the way Murphy is staring at him nervously, no doubt thinking about the blade he’s got, and Hecate’s orders to him should Bellamy break their pact in any way. Hecate’s a formidable enemy. Bellamy knows that he can’t give her what she wants, not after everything he’s learned, but what would happen to him if he dared to oppose her? The goddess of magic would make quick work of a mortal being, he’s sure. It’s possible that Octavia and even Niylah would become the goddess’ next targets should he go against their agreement, not to mention what she would do to Murphy. Would it be worth it in the end?

Just as he’s working through his nerves, the air in the room grows cold as Murphy stiffens, the cursed blade appearing in his hand. Bellamy doesn’t want to look, but he tries to find Murphy’s gaze, then feels his stomach drop as he sees the clouds in his eyes, obscuring everything else. He doesn’t move closer, and he doesn’t attempt to attack Bellamy, instead just standing there, menacingly.

This is some kind of fail-safe, built in by Hecate, of that he’s sure. It’s designed to scare him, probably, in case he showed signs of backing out. Despite the lack of sunlight in the room, the blade glints dauntingly.

Seeing this doesn’t scare him. If anything, it makes the decision much, much easier.

“I wish,” he begins, feeling a rush of peace fill his soul. He’s never been more sure of anything. “I wish for Murphy to be free. I wish for _all_ of Hecate’s curses to be lifted from him, and for her to no longer have any kind of control over his life.”

At this, all three of the Fates smile, and Bellamy thinks how incredulous it is that he, a simple mortal, is able to bring such joy to the faces of the most powerful beings in the world.

For a moment, Murphy remains still, his eyes still hidden behind the clouds. For a moment, a chill runs down Bellamy’s spine, and he wonders with horror if this _won’t_ work, and if he’ll be truly stuck like this for all of eternity.

In the next moment, the blade _clatters_ to the floor. Bellamy watches it fall. The sound of it banging against the tiled floor echoes through the entire room. The silence that follows is almost as terrifying.

Murphy goes down next, falling onto his hands and knees, face to the floor. Instinctually, Bellamy steps forwards to help, then hesitates, not sure if his presence is going to help in this situation at all. A second passes, then another, both he and Raven watching him nervously.

Then Murphy looks up, and he can’t describe the way his heart soars through his chest.

His eyes are back to their regular colour and crystal clear, perhaps even clearer than before. He’s no longer stiff as a board, no longer resembling a puppet on strings waiting for instructions. Most of all, the large tattoo on his face, the half-moon imprinted there as Hecate’s brand of servitude, has vanished.

He’s free.

Bellamy feels the tears form in his eyes as he watches Murphy slowly get to his feet, expression full of wonder. “I – Is this real?” Murphy whispers, ignoring everything else in the room except for Bellamy.

“Yeah,” he replies, “It is.”

Murphy smiles and sobs, all in the same breath, and then he’s running forwards and throwing his arms around Bellamy, pulling him in tightly. Neither of them think about anyone else in the room, nor do they try to stop the tears racing down their cheeks. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because they have each other, and they have a future, and they’re _free_.

“Thank you,” Murphy says, whispering right into Bellamy’s ear. “For – everything.”

Bellamy pulls away, but only slightly. “No,” he says, “thank _you_. I’m really lucky to have met you, Murphy.”

This is met with a laugh. “I think _I_ should be the one saying that, hotshot.”

“The quest is over. You don’t have to keep calling me that.”

Murphy’s quiet, but only for a second. “Yeah,” he says, “I do.”

He smiles, then looks up at the balcony where the Fates are, his arms still draped around Murphy’s shoulders. Raven’s climbed the stairs to stand by Luna’s side, an easy smile on her face and the tracks of a couple tears lining her cheeks. Despite them, she looks the most at ease that she’s ever been.

“It is rare that I have to thank a mortal,” Luna calls down to them, “but for this, I must thank you, Bellamy. You have shown true selflessness.”

He smiles, feeling that sense of peace wrap around his heart once more. “Thank you all, for everything you have done for me.”

“We don’t all agree on a lot,” Anya adds, “but you have made it easy to support you.”

“Yes,” Echo agrees. She still seems just as bored as she did before, but he finds that now he doesn’t mind so much. “You are unique.”

He’s not, though, is the thing. He’s not unique – he just knows what it’s like to be in love.

“Now, then,” Luna says, “I believe it is time for you _both_ to head home. We will be more than happy to provide you with safe passage back to your village.”

“Oh, I don’t think _that_ will be necessary.”

The unfamiliar voice hits the air from behind him, the words hitting his skin like ice. He turns instantly, but Murphy’s faster, stepping forwards and placing himself protectively between Bellamy and the newcomer. Still, she’s not hard to identify.

Somehow, Hecate’s gotten in, and she doesn’t look particularly happy about it.

She looks different now than she had when Bellamy had first sat down with her in her cabin, all that time ago. Then, she had been tall and mighty, but she’d still looked like a regular person in some really nice clothes. Now, she stands even taller, her pastel blue gown traded out for a fiery red one that seemed to literally radiate magical energy.

“Betrayed by my own son,” she says, her hand on her hip. “Now isn’t that just _something_?”

Bellamy steps back, cursing himself for being so instinctually afraid. Murphy stands fast, holding himself with confidence in front of what must have been a terrifying sight for him. 

Bellamy turns around, shooting the Fates a look that he hopes says _do something!_ Luna takes a step forwards as if to say something, but Hecate waves a hand and silver walls shimmer into existence all around the balcony, blocking any view of the Fates. They’re trapped in a shining, metal box, and Bellamy doubts that they’re able to do anything about it from inside.

“The Fates won’t help you, dear,” Hecate says, the sarcasm dripping out of her voice. “Or have you forgotten? They have no _real_ power, not unless a mortal wishes for something – and as _I_ recall, you’ve already used all your wishes up!”

Thankfully – or, hopefully – Raven’s up with the Fates, trapped behind Hecate’s magic wall, but safe and out of the way of harm for now. “Why are you here, Hecate?” he says, knowing the answer full well.

“What, did you think I wouldn’t feel the loss of my son’s life force from my power?” she snaps. “Did you really think I wasn’t keeping tabs on you this entire time, hmm?”

“His life isn’t yours to keep,” he says, but she’s not even listening.

“I know that you’ve corrupted him,” she continues. “Or maybe he’s corrupted you – he never was any good as a son. No matter. In some form or another, you’re at fault for this, Bellamy Blake, and for that, you _will_ pay.”

She tilts her head, staring him down. In an instant, her eyes flare red, and in the same moment the worst pain he’s ever felt sears through his mind. The shock and impact of it is enough to force Bellamy down on his knees. He clutches his forehead and tries not to scream out, but he thinks he might already be yelling.

_“Stop!”_

The pain leaves just as quickly as it came. His vision’s hazy, though, and Bellamy’s winded. It’s hard, but his worry for Murphy gives him enough energy to raise his head and struggle to his feet.

Murphy’s standing in front of him still, shielding him from Hecate’s wrath. Now, though, his left palm is open, an open flame dancing in its grip. The rush of everything else made Bellamy forget that Murphy is a god of magic, and now that he’s free from Hecate’s curse, he has no idea what he’s capable of.

“You’ve learned some tricks,” Hecate comments, her voice dry and bored. “Surely you’re smart enough to know that it won’t be enough.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” Murphy says. He’s tossing the flame up and down, now, a tiny fireball bouncing on his palm, up, down, then back up again. “I challenge you to a duel, Hecate.”

“How archaic.”

“If you win,” he says, “you get to do whatever you want, and exact whatever revenge you want.”

She scoffs. “Nothing is stopping me from doing just that, child, let alone you.”

Murphy continues on as if she hasn’t said anything at all. “And if _I_ win, you’ll be dead, so it won’t really matter to you.”

Hecate’s eyes narrow. Bellamy wants to protest, but he’s painfully aware that this fight is far too much for him. Still – he won’t leave. He won’t hide. He owes Murphy at least that much.

“I will deal with you first, insolent child,” she snaps. “Once I’ve defeated you, I will kill your boyfriend and make you watch as you _die_.”

Murphy stops tossing the fireball, holding it carefully in his hand. He stops for a moment, stares at it, and then hurls it with tremendous speed at the goddess. “Think fast!” he shouts. The fireball triples in size as it hurtles across the room.

Hecate’s quick to block it, though, raising her arm. She creates a shield without a word, the fireball hitting it and extinguishing on impact. Murphy throws another one, but it dies out much like the first. “You like fire too much,” she snaps.

“Thanks, mom,” Murphy shoots back, the sarcasm thick in his words.

Bellamy backs up until he hits the wall, doing his best to stay out of the way as the two of them fire shot after shot at each other. He’s got confidence in Murphy’s ability, but the hard truth is that the god is out of practice, and Hecate’s much more wired to kill. It’s not going to end well. He’s got to do something, but _what_?

He scans the room, his eyes falling on the glistening blade that Murphy dropped earlier – the very one that Hecate wanted him to kill Bellamy with.

Carefully, he moves along the wall of the room, making sure to stay close to the edge and away from the literal firefight. Hecate doesn’t seem to notice him moving. For once, he’s grateful to be an inconsequential mortal.

He reaches the blade and picks it up, feeling the weight of it nearly pull him to the ground. He wants to help, really, but Bellamy’s not trained for this. He doesn’t know how to use a blade like this, and a match against the goddess of magic herself isn’t exactly where he wants to start.

Sometimes, he thinks, the biggest strength is admitting the presence of a weakness.

“_Murphy_!” he shouts, and then with all his might, he tosses the blade up. The distance he has to throw it isn’t far, thankfully, and Murphy’s able to snatch it out of the air with a quick grin of thanks.

“Annoying,” Hecate grumbles. “Stay out of this, mortal. Wait your turn.”

She waves a hand at him, and a cloud of grey smoke appears out of nowhere and flies towards him. She then turns her attention back to Murphy, engaging him in a magical war once again. He hasn’t regained his full balance from tossing the blade, and he’s not expecting it when the spell hits him full force.

It’s an all too familiar feeling. After tossing the blade, he’d been falling forwards, but Hecate’s spell makes it feel like he hit a wall on the way down. The smoke somehow feels solid and slams into his chest, pushing him flat on his back and knocking all the air out of his lungs. He finds himself staring at the ceiling in a daze, his chest tight and constricting.

When the haze clears only slightly, he tries to stand, but finds that he can’t. The second he tries to move, the grey smoke forms into tendrils that coil around his legs, pushing them together in a tight constraint. It still holds a cloud-like appearance but feels as solid as chains as he struggles against it. It’s useless. Too soon, it’s coiled entirely around his legs and he can’t move them at all.

While he’s been preoccupied with that, more smoke has wound its way around his arms and chest, squeezing tightly as he struggles. Once again, it proves futile. The smoke feels solid and despite his best protests, he can’t break it at all. It doesn’t take long before he can’t even move his head, and he is completely and utterly paralyzed.

He can see the ceiling above him. He can hear both Hecate’s and Murphy’s magic, and he can hear them moving around and firing constantly at each other, but he can’t raise his head to look. The tendrils squeeze in tighter and it’s quickly getting harder to breathe. Despite all of this, all that Bellamy wants to do is cry.

He feels just as he did in Murphy’s nightmare, where the dream-Hecate had imprisoned him in ropes. He feels just as he did back in Niylah’s flowerbed, when he’d sank through the ground and died. He feels just as he’s felt his entire life – helpless.

He’s just a mortal, after all. No one else expected him to get this far.

It’s hopeless. It was naïve of him not to realize this until now. Murphy’s going to die, and then so will he, and all of it will be for nothing.

Except –

there’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, a reminder of something he’s forgotten. But what? He’s already given the blade away. There’s nothing else in the room – not that he could even move to get it. What could he – _oh_.

In his left pocket is a stalk of Wolf’s Bane, fresh from the Underworld.

Sharply, now, and with a renewed sense of hope, he remembers exactly what Lexa had said to him. _Wolf’s Bane grown down here…it is full of substances that can both hurt and heal. It is possible to save a life using a fresh stalk, but it is equally possible to end one. _

He can’t get Murphy’s attention, not like this, and he can’t risk the distraction of making him come all the way over here to retrieve the stalk. There’s no one else to help, and there’s no guarantee it will work, anyways, but it’s their last shot – he knows this with certainty.

There’s only one way to do this. He’s got to stand up.

He struggles against his bonds, but it’s just the same as before. Bellamy’s got no magic. He hasn’t the first clue where to start with this kind of thing. But he’s got to try. He’s got to, because that’s all that mortals know how to do, right?

Images begin flashing through his mind. He remembers first meeting Murphy, back at Hecate’s cabin, and being so dumbstruck by his larger-than-life appearance that he hadn’t known what to say. He’d been enamoured, even then, he thinks. He remembers climbing up the mountain, how he’d taken Murphy’s cape for him. It’s still in his bag, he realizes. Really, he ought to give that back. He remembers talks by the fireside, meeting Emori, meeting the Fates. He remembers surviving the Underworld’s river, and surviving the Commander of Death herself, even though she’d only fought them for love.

He remembers Murphy leaning over a cliff side, most of all, the tears in his eyes as he refused to let go, even after being ordered to. It’s an image he doesn’t think he’ll ever get out of his mind.

It’s never been about him, he realizes. This has never been a solo endeavour. He’s done all those things, and he’s made it this far, but it’s not because he’s special. It’s because he did it with Murphy. It’s Bellamy _and_ Murphy, together, to the end of the line, and if Murphy can resist a godly curse for him, then he sure can, too.

Strength he didn’t know he had fills his bones, and Bellamy _screams_.

The smoky tendrils burst and break open, falling down into the floor. Bellamy staggers to his feet, Hecate staring at him in shock. “Are you _sure_ you’re mortal?” she says, distractedly blocking a spell Murphy threw at her.

“Hey, Murphy,” he says, “catch.”

This time, he throws the leather case of Wolf’s Bane. Murphy catches it easily, opening it with a puzzled expression, but realization dawning on him quickly. “Remind me to kiss you later,” he says, haphazardly blocking one of Hecate’s spells.

Bellamy laughs, allowing himself to take a step away, his back to the wall. He’s _tired_ – but it’s not over yet.

Quickly, Murphy crushes the plant stalk in his hand, holding the hilt of the blade firmly in the other. “For the record,” he says, “Dad was always the better parent.”

“Your father prefers his cloud form,” Hecate laughs. “You’ve never _met_ him.”

“Exactly.”

With that, he outstretches the hand holding the crushed pieces of plant and throws them in Hecate’s direction. She doesn’t seem overly concerned as they approach her, until Murphy flicks his wrist and the Wolf’s Bane pieces lose all sense of gravity, each one of them hovering in the air somewhere around her, forming a semblance of a halo around her.

“Really?” she says. “This is your final move?”

Murphy steps towards her, confidently. Hecate rolls her eyes, snaps her fingers, and – nothing. Nothing happens.

Her eyes grow wide as she tries again, but still, there’s no effect. Bellamy realizes what’s happened – Wolf’s Bane, capable of taking a life, took Hecate’s magic instead, the essence of her soul.

Murphy stands directly in front of her now, staring her down. For the first time, and probably the only time in her life, Hecate looks terrified. “You stole everything from me,” he whispers.

“Think about this,” Hecate pleads. “I don’t think you want to do this at all.”

“You killed Emori’s people,” he continues. “You ruined her life. You forced my sister into hiding. You killed Mbege. You tried to kill Bellamy, more than once.”

“I’m still your mother!”

“You stole my life from me, for _years_,” Murphy says. “You deserve far, far worse than this.”

“John,” she says, “please.”

The name, though, has no effect on him. “Goodbye, mother,” he says, and then in one solid movement, Murphy raises the blade and plunges it through Hecate’s chest.

She doesn’t die like mortals do. As the life leaves her, Hecate’s body begins to glow, a bright yellow light seeping out of every pore. For a moment, the light gets so bright that Bellamy has to squint, and then look away completely. When it’s gone, and he looks back, her body has vanished completely, save for a few golden dust particles that remain floating through the air.

Murphy lowers the sword, then drops it completely. “Are you okay?” he says, walking over to Bellamy and holding him by the shoulders, checking him over.

“Yeah, yeah, I – I should be asking _you_ that.”

“I’m – I’m fine. Really. I think I’m _more_ than fine.”

Bellamy cracks a smile, despite what just happened. “You were amazing, Murphy. I’m still sorry you had to do that.”

“Yeah, well. I think I needed to,” he says.

“Bellamy! Murphy!” Bellamy turns his head, and watches as the silver walls Hecate had used to box in Raven and the Fates disappear before their very eyes. Raven’s calling out to them, waving her hands so they see her.

“Are you okay?” Bellamy says.

Raven nods, coming down the staircase, Luna following her close behind. She throws her arms around them both when she reaches them, sobbing in relief. “We could see everything,” she says. “I’m so sorry. I wish we could have helped you.”

“It’s fine,” Bellamy says, “we’re fine.”

And then it hits him – they’re _fine_. There’s no more threat of Hecate. There’s nothing else standing in the way of their future, whatever form that looks like.

Like always, though, he speaks too soon.

With a _creak_, the front door to the Fates’ home opens, and the tallest man Bellamy’s ever seen enters. He’s wearing a clean and crisp black suit, with a long white beard and eyes that, somehow, are the exact colour of a stormy sky. He carries himself with authority and confidence as he walks in the room, _booming_ with every step.

Bellamy’s read the legends. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they’re being visited by Zeus, the leader and ruler of the gods.

Unsure of what else to do, Bellamy sinks into a bow, Raven and Murphy quickly following. The Fates remain standing, but nod respectfully upon Zeus’ entrance. “Rise,” he says. In no way is he speaking loudly, but his voice still carries across the entire room and then some.

“Lord Zeus,” Luna says, “I believe I know why you are here.”

“I’m sure you do,” he says, casting a careful eye over them. “My, what an interesting group assembled here. The Fates themselves, a demigoddess that has so craftily evaded me, a god who has been locked into servitude for many years, and – a mortal, of all things.”

Luna just smiles. From the cordial way she’s carrying herself, Bellamy’s sure she’s no stranger to dealing with someone like Zeus. “I know you have been watching them, Zeus.”

He twists his mouth into a crooked smile. “I confess – I have. It makes very good entertainment. But, alas, I’m afraid this pairing has come to an end.”

Bellamy narrows his eyes in confusion, but catches Murphy staring at the floor, deep in thought. “You can’t take me back to Olympus,” Raven cuts in. “The Fates – they made it so.”

Zeus grumbles at this. “Yes, this I know. You have been cut from my domain, Raven Reyes, so consider yourself lucky – I would not normally tolerate a comment of such kind. But it is not you I am here for.”

“You’re here for me,” Murphy says, “aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Zeus says. “I am. Follow me to Olympus, please.”

“Wait,” Bellamy says, “what? Why does he have to go?”

“He’s a god, child, or did you not know that?” Zeus says. Ruler of the gods or not, Bellamy can’t help but feel annoyance at being called _child_.

“Yes, but – don’t gods live outside of Olympus all the time? Hecate did, after all.”

“They _can_,” Zeus agrees, “but very rarely. Hecate was…a rare case. A minor goddess. Now that John here has vanquished her, he can, as her son and heir, take her place.”

Bellamy shakes his head, refusing to believe it. After all of that, _this_ is what will separate them? “No,” he says, “what about Niylah? She’s older, isn’t she?”

“She’s only a demigoddess,” Zeus sighs. “Not fit to take over.”

“Demigods can do more than you think,” Raven cuts in.

“In _your_ case,” Zeus says, “that might be true.”

Murphy shakes his head. “No,” he says, but Zeus doesn’t seem to hear.

“Anyways, it is time to take our leave,” he says. “Thank you for the hospitality, and whatnot.”

“No,” Bellamy protests, “you can’t!”

Zeus narrows his eyes. “Your wishes are all used up,” he says, “or have you forgotten? Your turn in the spotlight is over now, Bellamy Blake. Don’t make me regret letting you leave this place alive.”

For the ruler of the gods, Bellamy thinks he’s starting to sound a lot like Hecate.

But then – “No,” Murphy repeats, much louder, and much to Zeus’ shock.

“_No_?”

“No,” he says. “I rescind my godship.”

Bellamy’s not sure what this means, but everyone else in the room takes a breath, shocked. “Is that so?” Zeus asks, very quietly.

“It is,” Murphy replies. “Thank you for the offer, but I rescind.”

“What – What does that mean?”

Raven reaches out, placing a steadying hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. “It means,” she says, “that he’s giving up being a god. He’s going to become mortal.”

“_What_?”

“It’s what I want,” Murphy says. “I know that it is.”

“Are you certain?” Zeus asks. “Once this is done, it cannot be undone. You will have made your choice forever.”

Now, Bellamy’s shaking his head for a whole other reason. “No,” he says. “I can’t let you do that. You’d give up everything.”

“Yeah,” Murphy says, “for you.”

“No. I can’t let you do that. I won’t let you do that.”

“Bell,” he says, softly placing his hand in his, “it’s what I want. I want to live a normal life with you, more than anything.”

There’s so much he wants to say, but the words are getting caught in his throat. “I – you don’t know that. You’ve never even seen my home. It’s _messy_.”

Murphy laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound Bellamy’s ever heard. “Oh, please. It doesn’t matter to me where you live, or how you live, or if you have a home at all. No matter what, Bellamy Blake, I’d still choose _you_.”

“_Oh_,” he says, and then, “well – me, too.”

“Great,” Murphy says, “so that’s settled, then. I formally rescind my godship. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Zeus looks at Murphy, then Bellamy, then back at Murphy again. “Well,” he says, “I will be off, then. Follow me if you change your mind, John, but if you do not – by the time I return to Olympus, your godhood will be gone.”

“I understand.”

Zeus nods, turns, and walks out the door. Murphy does not follow him.

After that, Bellamy keeps expecting another surprise to walk through the door, but none do. Anya and Echo bid farewell. Raven envelops Bellamy and Murphy in another hug, tears in her eyes as she says goodbye.

“Visit lots,” she says.

“I promise,” Bellamy says, and they hug once more before Raven joins Luna’s side.

“You can use the tunnel system to leave,” Luna says, “but – you both are welcome to come back at any time, of course.”

“Thank you,” Bellamy says. “I hope the two of you are happy. And – Luna?”

“Yes?”

“I know that you’re an all-powerful being,” he says, “but you better not do anything to hurt Raven, okay?”

Luna laughs, and then smiles. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

It doesn’t feel like it should be this simple, but somehow, it is. Luna takes Raven’s hand, and the two of them climb the staircase and disappear out of sight. Bellamy laces his fingers through Murphy’s, and the two of them take the door to the tunnels and leave the Fates’ home behind them.

When they emerge from the tunnel system, at the base of Mount Polis, the sun is high in the sky and the air is the perfect temperature. For a horrible, terrifying, beautiful moment, Bellamy is reminded that he is alive.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks Murphy.

“Of course I am.”

“You don’t – You don’t regret it?”

Murphy just stops and smiles. “Bellamy,” he says, “don’t you realize that I’d follow you anywhere?”

They kiss against the backdrop of a perfect landscape, and he’s never felt better.

* * *

Bellamy sure of a few things.

Somewhere, he knows Emori’s made a new home, in a river full of nymphs like her. They embrace her as the long-lost sister that she is, and welcome her into their home. She’s got a community and a new family of her own, and she’s never been happier than she is now. Of course, sometimes she still finds her way to the river bordering Bellamy’s farm, just to pay them a visit, but for the most part – she’s at peace.

Deep in the marsh of the forest, Niylah’s disenchanting the flowerbed surrounding their home. Octavia’s taken up gardening, but without any magic added into it. Now that Hecate’s gone and the immediate threat has been vanquished, they’re free to live their lives exactly how they want to, and that’s exactly what they do.

In the middle of Mount Polis, Raven and Luna find their home in each other. Luna shows her the sights of the world, while Raven keeps her grounded in their home and reality. They’re the perfect opposites of each other, a perfect balance to one another, living in perfect harmony. They accept visits from certain mortals sometimes, but for the most part, it is just the two of them finding solace in each other.

Somewhere deep below them, Clarke and Lexa are living out the dreams they didn’t realize would ever be possible to see come to reality. There’s no one around to tell them otherwise, so they do as they please with an entire world at their disposal. The fields of wandering souls get thinner and thinner and the afterlife becomes more joyful, piece by piece, as their love grows stronger.

On a small farm in a small village in the west, two mortals sit on the steps to their home, watching the sunrise. Bellamy’s absolutely sure that life can’t get better than this moment.

“I have something for you,” Bellamy says, and then he hands Murphy his cape, the very same one he’d kept for him when they’d begun their quest, all that time ago.

Murphy laughs as he takes it, holding the fabric delicately in his grip. “I’d forgotten about this, actually,” he admits. “I didn’t think I ever would.”

“I know it was special to you,” Bellamy says. “I’m sorry I didn’t give it back sooner.”

“No, that’s fine. It’s part of my old life, one of the few belongings I had. I don’t need it anymore.” Still, he places it on his lap, staring at it with a kind of nostalgic fondness.

Bellamy hums his agreement, staring intently at the sunrise. Soon, the animals will wake, and their workday will begin, but for now, he can just sit and enjoy this feeling of warmth. He scoots closer to Murphy, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

In this moment, everything becomes crystal clear to him. He knows exactly what he wants, and where to go from here, and he’s at peace with that. But first – “I have to tell you something, but I need to ask you something first.”

“Anything.”

“Now that it’s all over,” Bellamy says, “do you want me to call you Murphy, or – John?”

He stops and thinks for a moment, staring into the red, illuminated sky. “John was who I used to be,” he finally says. “I don’t think I’m John, not anymore. I think I’d like to be Murphy, now.”

Bellamy nods, letting out a shaky breath. “Then – Murphy, I love you.”

Murphy’s gaze softens. “I love you, too, Bellamy.”

He lays his head on his shoulder just as the sun peaks over the horizon, washing the valley with a wonderous light. The animals will wake soon, and the crops will need work soon, and the seasons will change to winter before they know it. They have a lot of hard work in front of them, but he knows that if they’re together, it won’t feel like work at all.

“Come on, hotshot,” Murphy says, “we’ve got a life to live.”

Bellamy sighs happily, letting the morning light fill his soul with a wonderous sense of peace, then allows Murphy to pull him up and lead him out into the field, hand-in-hand. With every step, they walk closer towards an eternity spent in perfect harmony, and Bellamy knows with a deep sincerity that all of this was really, really worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, surprise. this is the final chapter. i hope you enjoyed, sincerely, because i cried several times trying to make this work. 
> 
> i won't talk for too long, but i want to thank a couple people. charlie and elle, i have talked /so/ much about this fic, and you both have done nothing but encourage me and help me out and listen even when i was just complaining. thank you guys. i wouldn't have done this so quickly or at all without you both.  
i want to give a quick shout out to noah & caiti, as well, for always promo-ing this fic and hyping me up. u guys.... <3 <3
> 
> to everyone who has read this in any capacity - thank you. i am not kidding when i say this fic was my child. it was in my head for months before i even dared to write it down, and it has taken many forms, and taken many months to complete this. during the time i was writing this fic, i changed majors, changed jobs, and almost changed homes a couple times. i had about five different possible endings before i settled on this one. it has truly been a wild ride. thank you to anyone who took the time to read this. it means so, so much.
> 
> please come find me on twitter @iexasheart! i'll be there crying a lot. again, thank you, i love you all, and you're amazing. <3


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